LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


■  Madam,'  he  said,  '  it  will  be  best  to  throw  back  your  hood.'     This  I  did, 
and  so  stood  before  them  all  bareheaded."— [^ee  p.  270.] 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM 


B  iRovel 


BY 

WALTER  :pESANT 

AUTHOR  OP 

'DOROTHY  FORSTER"  "  IIERR  PAtJLrS  "  "ALL  SORTS  AND  COSDITIOXS  OF  MEN" 

"  THE  WORLD  WENT  VERY  WELL  THEN  "   ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN   SQUARE 

1889 


By  WALTER  BESANT. 


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Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

iW  Any  of  the  ahove  works  xvill  he  sent  hij  mail,  post  age  prepaid,  to  any  part  of 

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CONTENTS. 


CiiArTEB  Page 

I.  Farewell  Sunday 1 

II.  Our  Home 15 

III.  Thk  Boys 20 

IV.  Sir  CnRisTOPiiEu 25 

V.  The  Runaway 30 

VI.  Benjamin,  Lord  Chancellor 36 

VII.  Medicine  Doctor 45 

VIII.  A  Royal  Progress 52 

IX.  With  the  Elders CO 

X.  Le  Roy  est  Mori 6*7 

XI.  Before  the  Storm 73 

XII.  Humphrey 80 

XIII.  One  Day 87 

XIV.  Barnabv 95 

XV.  A  Night  and  Morning  at  Lyme  Regis 102 

XVL  On  the  March 110 

XVn.  Taunton 125 

XVIII.  The  Maids  of  Taunton 131 

XIX.  King  Monmouth  and  his  Camp 135 

XX.  Benjamin's  Warning 14G 

XXI.  We  Wait  for  the  End 150 

XXIL  The  Day  After 159 

XXHL  Our  Flight 107 

XXIV.  The  Camp  in  the  Comb 173 

XXV.  Judge  Jeffreys 189 

XXVI.  In  Ilminster  Jail 197 

XXVII.  Before  the  Assize  ....          203 

XXVIIL  Benjamin 210 

XXIX.  On  What  Conditions? 217 

XXX.  A  Slight  Thing  at  the  Best 224 

XXXI.  The  Vision   of  Consolation 236 

XXXII.  Mr.  George  Penne 243 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Chaptick  Page 

XXXIII.  On  Board  the  "Jolly  Thatcuer." 251 

XXXIV.  The  Good  Samaritan 258 

XXXV.  The  White  Slate 267 

XXXVI.  The  First  Day  of  Servitude 2V4 

XXXVII.  By  the  Waters  of  Babylon 281 

XXXVIII.  Humphrey's  Narrative 290 

XXXIX.  Robin,  Humphrey,  and  Barnaby  Reach  Barbadoes  .     .     .  297 

XL.  With  the  Hoe , 306 

XLI.  On  Conditions 812 

XLII.  Alice 822 

XLIII.  Barnaby  Hears  the  News 826 

XLIV.  A  Scare 332 

XLV.  Barnaby  the   Avenger 33*7 

XLVI.  A  Perilous  Voyage 342 

XLVII.  We  Sail  for  the  Bahamas S56 

XLVIII.  The  Island  of  Providence 859 

XLIX.  Home 364 

L.  The  Great  Lord  Chancellor 369 

LI.  The  Confession 373 

LII.  Conclusion 380 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"  '  MADAM,'  HE  SAID,  '  IT  WILL  BE  BEST  TO  THROW  BACK 
TOUK  HOOD.'  THIS  I  DID,  A^TD  SO  STOOD  BEFORE 
THEM   ALL   BAREHEADED" FvOTltiSpieCe. 

"  IX  HIS  HAXD  HE  CARRIED  HIS  BIBLE.  .  .  .  BESIDE  HIM 
WALKED  MT  MOTHER,  HOLDIXG  IN  HER  HAND  HER 
BOT,  MT  BROTHER   BARXABY,  THEX   THREE  YEARS  OF 

AGE " Facing  yarjc   6 

"  EVERT  MORXIXG  SIR  CHRISTOPHER  SAT  IX  HIS  JUSTICE'S 
CHAIR.  .  .  ,  SOMETIMES  GYPSIES  WOULD  BE  BROUGHT 
BEFORE  HIM  CHARGED  AVITH  STEALING  POULTRY  "  .      .  "  28 

"HE  WAS  SEIZED  WITH  A  MIGHTY  WRATH,  AXD  CATCHIXG 
HIS  SON  SHARPLY  BY  THE  EAR,  LED  HIM  OCT  OF  THE 
THROXG,  AND  SO  HOME  " "  36 

"  '  FAIR  WHITE  ROSE  OF  SOMERSET,  LET  ME  BE  ASSURED  OF 
THE  WELCOME  OF  ILCHESTER  BY'  A  KISS  FROM  YOUK 
SWEET  LIPS,  WHICH  I  WILL  RETURN  IN  TOKEN  OF  MT 
GRATITUDE  '  " "  58 

"  WE  PLAY'ED  TOGETHER HE  UPON  THE  VIOLONCELLO  AND 

I  UPON  THE  SPINET — SUCH  MUSIC  AS  HE  CHOSE "     .       .  "  G2 

"AND  I  WAS  LYIXG  IX  HIS  ARMS,  AXD  HE  WAS  KISSIXG  ME, 
AND  CALLING  ME  ALL  THE  SWEET  AND  TENDER  THINGS 
THAT  HE  COULD  INVENT  " "  78 

"then,  WITH  GREAT  CERE5IONY,  THEY  ENTERED,  SIR 
CHRISTOPHER  BOWING  LOW  AND  MADAM  DROPPING  A 
DEEP  COURTEST  TO  MT  MOTHER,  WHO  SAT  HUMBLY' 
AT  HER  WHEEL  " "  gQ 

"MT    FATHER   LIFTED    HIS    HEAD    AXD    AVAVED    HIS    HAND, 

CRY'ING, '  A  MONMOUTH  !    A  MONMOUTH  !' " "  J12 

"HER    SCIIOOL-GIRLS    WERE    ENGAGED    IN    WORKING    AND 

EMBROIDERING  FLAGS  FOE  THE  duke's  ARMY  "-    .       .  "  124 


VI  xLLUSTKATIONS. 

'•'LET  ME  TELL  THY  FORTUNE,  HANDSOSIE  GENTLEMAN? 
LET  ME  TELL  THINE,  FAIR  LADY?  A  SIXPENCE  OR  A 
GROAT,  TO   CROSS  MY  PALM,  CAPTAIN,  AND   YOU  SHALL 

KNOW  ALL  THAT  IS  TO  HAPPEN '" Fcicijig  paffC   140 

"  THE  LAST  I  SAW  OF  ROEIN  WAS  THAT  HE  WAS  TURNING 
IN  HIS  SADDLE  TO  AVAVE  HIS  HAND,  HIS  FACE  FULL  OF 

CONFIDENCE  AND  JOY  " "  152 

"  I  WENT  TO  THE  PONy's  HEAD,  AND  BAENABY',  GOING 
BEHIND     THE     CART,    LIFTED    IT     OVER     THE     ROUGH 

PLACES,  AND  SOMETIMES  CARRIED  HIS  END  OF  IT  ".       .  "  172 

" '  BOYS,'  I  SAID,  '  BEWARE  !  IF  Y'OU  GO  HIGHER  UP  THE 
COMB    YOU    WILL    CERTAINLY"    MEET   WILD    MEN,  WHO 

ALWAYS  ROB  AND  BEAT  BOYS  '  " "  184 

"  SHE  WAITED  NOT  FOR  ANY  ANSWER,  BUT  KNELT  DOWN 
BESIDE  HIM,  AND   POURED  SOME   DROPS  OF  MILK  INTO 

THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  SICK  MAN  " "  198 

"  HE  ACCOSTED  ME  ONE  MORNING  WHEN  I  WAS  STANDING 
AT    THE    WICKET    WAITING    FOR    MY    BASKET    TO    BE 

TAKEN     IN  ' "  20G 

"AS   I   RAN,  MR.    BOSCOREL   STOOD   BEFORE    HIS    SON    AND 

BARRED  THE  WAY,  RAISING  HIS  RIGHT  hand"    .       .       .  "  23G 

"  AS  I  PASSED  AMONG  THE  CROWD,  ONE  CAUGHT  ME  BY 
THE  ARM.      IT  WAS  A  LITTLE  OLD  WOMAN,  HER  FACE 

ALL  WRINKLED  AND  PUCKERED  " "  242 

"  WHEN  I  CAME  TO  MY  SENSES,  THE  CAPTAIN  GAVE  ME  A 
GLASS    OF    CORDIAL    AND    MADE    ME    SIT    DOWN    ON   A 

GUN-CARRIAGE  ".       .       . "  258 

"  I  SAT  IN  THOSE  ABOMINABLE  STOCKS  FOR  NO  MORE  THAN 
AN     HOUR.        THEN    MADAM     HERSELF     CAME     TO     ME. 

.    .    .    SHE  BADE    THE   NEGRO    UNLOCK    THE   BAR "  .       .  "  318 

"  *  STAND  BACK !'  CRIED  BARNABY,  PUSHING  ME  ASIDE. 
'LEAVE    GO    OF    HIM,  WOMAN.       LET    ME    DEAL    WITH 

HIM  '" "  340 

"  THE  MAN  WITH  HIM  DRAGGING  HIS  TEETH  OUT  WITH 
THE     PINCERS,   BARNABY    HOLDING     THE     PISTOL     TO 

THE    POOR   wretch's   HEAD " "  368 

"  THEN  I  KNELT  BESIDE  HIS  BED,  AND  PRAYED  ALOUD 
FOR  HIM  ;  BUT  INCESSANTLY  HE  CRIED  FOR  HELP, 
WEARING  HIMSELF  OUT  WITH  PRAYERS  AND  CURSES  "  "  373 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FAREWELL    SUNDAY. 


The  morning  of  Sunday,  August  the  23d,  in  the  year  of  grace 
1662,  should  have  been  black  and  gloomy,  with  the  artillery  of 
rolling  thunder,  dreadful  flashes  of  lightning,  and  driving  hail 
and  wind  to  strip  the  orchards  and  lay  low  the  corn.  For  on 
that  day  was  done  a  thing  which  filled  the  whole  country  with 
grief,  and  bore  bitter  fruit,  in  after-years,  of  revenge  and  re- 
bellion. Because  it  was  the  day  before  that  formerly  named 
after  Bartholomew,  the  disciple,  it  hath  been  called  the  Black 
Bartholomew  of  England,  thus  being  likened  with  that  famous 
day  (approved  by  the  pope)  when  the  French  Protestants  were 
treacherously  massacred  by  their  king.  It  should  rather  be 
called  "  Farewell  Sunday,"  or  "  Exile  Sunday,"  because  on  that 
day  two  thousand  godly  ministers  preached  their  last  sermon  in 
the  churches  where  they  had  labored  worthily  and  with  good 
fruit,  some  during  the  time  of  the  Protector,  and  some  even 
longer,  because  among  them  were  a  few  Avho  possessed  their 
benefices  even  in  the  time  of  the  late  King  Charles  the  First. 
And,  since  on  that  day  two  thousand  ministers  left  their  churches 
and  their  houses,  and  laid  down  their  worldly  wealth  for  con- 
science' sake,  there  were  also  as  many  wives  who  went  with 
them,  and,  I  dare  say,  three  or  four  times  as  many  innocent  and 
helpless  babes.  And,  further  (it  is  said  that  the  time  was  fixed 
by  design  and  deliberate  malice  of  our  enemies),  the  ministers 
were  called  upon  to  make  their  choice  only  a  week  or  two  be- 
fore the  day  of  the  collection  of  their  tithes.  In  other  words, 
they  were  sent  forth  to  the  world  at  the  season  when  their  purses 
1  A 


53  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

were  the  leanest ;  indeed,  with  most  country  clergymen,  their 
purses  shortly  before  the  collection  of  tithes  become  well-nigh 
empty.  It  was  also  unjust  that  their  successors  should  be  per- 
mitted to  collect  tithes  due  to  those  who  were  ejected. 

It  is  fitting  to  begin  this  history  with  the  Black  Bartholo- 
mew, because  all  the  troubles  and  adventures  which  afterwards 
befell  us  were  surely  caused  by  that  accursed  day.  One  knows 
not,  certainly,  what  other  rubs  might  have  been  ordained  for 
us  by  a  wise  Providence  (always  with  the  merciful  design  of 
keeping  before  our  eyes  the  vanity  of  worldly  things,  the  in- 
stability of  fortune,  the  uncertainty  of  life,  and  the  wisdom  of 
looking  for  a  hereafter  which  shall  be  lasting,  stable,  and  satis- 
fying to  the  soul).  Still,  it  must  be  confessed,  such  trials  as 
were  appointed  unto  us  were,  in  severity  and  continuance,  far 
beyond  those  appointed  to  the  ordinary  sort,  so  that  I  cannot 
but  feel  at  times  uplifted  (I  hope  not  sinfully)  at  having  been 
called  upon  to  endure  so  much.  Let  me  not,  however,  be  proud. 
Had  it  not  been  for  this  day,  for  certain  our  boys  would  not 
have  been  tempted  to  strike  a  blow — vain  and  useless  as  it 
proved  —  for  the  Protestant  religion  and  for  liberty  of  con- 
science :  while  perhaps  I  should  now  be  forbidden  to  relate  our 
sufferings,  were  it  not  for  the  glorious  revolution  which  has  re- 
stored toleration,  secured  the  Protestant  ascendency,  and  driven 
into  banishment  a  prince,  concerning  whom  all  honest  men  pray 
tb?t  he  and  his  son  (if  he  have,  indeed,  a  son  of  his  own)  may 
never  again  have  authority  over  this  realm. 

This  Sunday,  I  say,  should  have  wept  tears  of  rain  over  the 
havoc  which  it  witnessed ;  yet  it  was  fine  and  clear,  the  sun 
riding  in  splendor,  and  a  warm  summer  air  blowing  among  the 
orchards  and  over  the  hills  and  around  the  village  of  Bradford 
Orcas,  in  the  shire  of  Somerset.  The  wheat  (for  the  season  was 
late)  stood  gold-colored  in  the  fields,  ready  at  last  for  the  reaper ; 
the  light  breeze  bent  down  the  ears  so  that  they  showed  like 
waves  over  which  the  passing  clouds  make  light  and  shade ;  the 
apples  in  the  orchards  were  red  and  yellow  and  nearly  ripe  for 
the  press ;  in  the  gardens  of  the  Manor  House,  hard  by  the 
church,  the  sunflowers  and  the  hollyhocks  were  at  their  tallest 
and  their  best;  the  yellow  roses  on  the  wall  were  still  in  clus- 
ters ;  the  sweet-peas  hung  with  tangles  of  vine  and  flower  upon 
their  stalks ;  the  bachelors'  buttons,  the  sweet  mignonette,  the 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  3 

nasturtium,  the  gillyflowers  and  stocks,  tlie  sweetwilliams  and 
the  pansies,  offered  their  late  summer  blossoms  to  the  hot  sun 
among  the  lavender,  thyme,  parsley,  sage,  feverfew  and  vervain 
of  my  lady's  garden.  Oh !  I  know  how  it  all  looked,  though  I 
was  as  yet  unborn.  How  many  times  have  I  stood  in  the  church- 
yard and  watched  the  same  scene  at  the  same  sweet  season ! 
On  a  week-day  one  hears  the  thumping  and  the  groaning  of 
the  mill  below  the  church ;  there  are  the  voices  of  the  men  at 
work,  the  yo-hoing  of  tlie  boys  who  drive,  and  the  lumbering 
of  the  carts.  You  can  even  hear  the  spinning-wheels  at  work 
in  the  cottages.  On  Sunday  morning  everything  is  still,  save 
for  the  warblincj  of  the  winded  tribe  in  the  wood,  the  cooino-  of 
the  doves  in  the  cot,  the  clucking  of  the  hens,  the  grunting  of 
the  pigs,  and  the  droning  of  the  bees.  These  things  disturb 
not  the  meditations  of  one  who.  is  accustomed  to  them. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  sexton,  an  ancient  man 
and  rheumatic,  hobbled  slowly  through  the  village,  key  in  hand, 
and  opened  the  church-door.  Then  he  went  into  the  tower  and 
rang  the  first  bell.  I  suppose  this  bell  is  designed  to  hurry 
housewives  with  their  morning  work,  and  to  admonish  the  men 
that  they  incline  their  hearts  to  a  spiritual  disposition.  This 
done,  the  sexton  set  open  the  doors  of  the  pews,  swept  out  the 
squire's  and  the  rector's  in  the  chancel,  dusted  the  cushions  of 
the  pulpit  (the  reading-desk  at  this  time  was  not  used),  opened 
the  clasps  of  the  great  Bible,  and  swept  down  the  aisle :  as  he 
had  done  Sunday  after  Sunday  for  fifty  years.  When  he  had 
thus  made  the  church  ready  for  the  day's  service,  he  went  into  the 
vestiy,  which  had  only  been  used  since  the  establishment  of  the 
Commonwealth  for  the  registers  of  birth,  death,  and  marriage. 

At  one  side  of  the  vestry  stood  an  ancient  black-oak  coiler, 
the  sides  curiously  graven,  and  a  great  rusty  key  in  the  lock. 
The  sexton  turned  the  key  with  some  difficulty,  threw  open  the 
lid,  and  looked  in. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  chuckling,  "  the  old  surplice  and  the  old  Book 
of  Common  Prayer.  Ye  have  had  a  long  rest ;  'tis  time  for 
both  to  come  out  again.  When  the  surplice  is  out  the  book 
will  stay  no  longer  locked  up.  These  two  go  in  and  out  to- 
gether. I  mind  me,  now — "  Here  he  sat  down,  and  his  thoughts 
wandered  for  a  space ;  perhaps  he  saw  himself  once  more  a  boy 
running  in  the  fields,  or  a  young  man  courting  a  maid.     Prcs- 


4  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

ently  he  returned  to  the  task  before  him,  and  drew  forth  an  old 
and  yellow  roll  which  he  shook  out.  It  was  the  surplice  which 
had  once  been  white.  "  Here  you  are,"  he  said  ;  "  put  you 
away  for  a  matter  of  twelve  year  and  more  and  you  bide  your 
time ;  you  know  you  will  come  back  again ;  you  are  not  in  any 
hurry.  Even  the  sexton  dies ;  but  you  die  not,  you  bide  your 
time.  Everything  comes  again.  The  old  woman  shall  give  you 
a  taste  o'  the  suds  and  the  hot  iron.  Thus  we  go  up  and  thus 
we  go  down."  lie  put  back  the  surplice  and  locked  the  great 
Book  of  Common  Prayer — musty  and  damp  after  twelve  years' 
imprisonment.  "  Fie  !"  he  said,  "  the  leather  is  parting  from  the 
boards,  and  the  leaves  they  do  stick  together.  Shalt  have  a  pot 
of  paste,  and  then  lie  in  the  sun  before  thou  goest  back  to  the 
desk ;  whether  'tis  mass  or  Common  Prayer,  whether  'tis  Inde- 
pendent or  Presbyterian,  folk  mun  still  die  and  be  buried — ay, 
and  married  and  born — whatever  they  do  say.  Parson  goes  and 
preacher  comes ;  preacher  goes  and  parson  comes ;  but  sexton 
stays."  He  chuckled  again,  put  back  the  surplicQ  and  the  book, 
and  locked  the  coffer. 

Then  he  slowly  went  down  the  church  and  came  out  of  the 
porch,  blinking  in  the  sun  and  shading  his  old  eyes.  He  sat 
down  upon  the  flat  stones  of  the  old  cross,  and  presently  nodded 
his  head  and  dropped  off  asleep. 

It  was  a  strange  indifference  in  the  man.  A  great  and  truly 
notable  thing  was  to  be  accomplished  that  day.  But  he  cared 
nothing.  Two  thousand  godly  and  learned  men  were  to  go 
forth  into  poverty  for  liberty  of  conscience — this  man's  own 
minister  was  one  of  them.  He  cared  nothing.  The  king  was 
sowing  the  seed  from  which  should  spring  a  rod  to  drive  forth 
his  successor  from  the  kingdom.  In  the  village  the  common 
sort  were  not  moved.  Nothing  concerns  the  village  folk  but  the 
weather  and  the  market  prices.  As  for  the  good  sexton,  he  was 
very  old :  he  had  seen  the  Church  of  England  displaced  by  the 
Presbyterians  and  the  Presbyterians  by  the  Independents,  and 
now  these  were  again  to  be  supplanted  by  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. He  had  been  sexton  through  all  these  changes.  He 
heeded  them  not ;  why,  his  father,  sexton  before  him,  could  re- 
member when  the  mass  was  said  in  the  church  and  the  Virgin 
was  worhipped,  and  the  folk  were  driven  like  sheep  to  confession. 
All  the  time  the  people  went  on  being  born,  and  marrying,  and 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  5 

dyiug.  Creed  doth  not,  truly,  affect  these  things  nor  the  sex- 
ton's work.  Therefore  this  old  gaffer,  having  made  sure  that 
the  surplice  was  in  the  place  Vy^here  it  had  lain  undisturbed  for 
a  dozen  years,  and  remembering  that  it  must  be  washed  and 
ironed  for  the  following  Sunday,  sat  down  to  bask  in  the  sun, 
his  mind  at  rest,  and  dropped  off  into  a  gentle  sleep. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  bell-ringers  came  tramping  up  the  stone 
steps  from  the  road,  and  the  sexton  v/oke  up.  At  ten  they  used 
to  begin  their  chimes,  but  at  the  hour  they  ring  for  five  minutes 
only,  ending  with  the  clash  of  all  five  bells  together.  At  a  quar- 
ter past  ten  they  chime  again,  for  the  service,  which  begins  at 
half-past  ten. 

At  the  sound  of  these  chimes  the  whole  village  begins  to 
move  slowly  towards  the  church.  First  come  the  children,  the 
bigger  ones  leading  those  who  are  little  by  the  hand ;  the  boys 
come  next,  but  unwillingly,  because  the  sexton  is  diligent  with 
his  cane,  and  some  of  those  who  now  go  up  the  steps  to  the 
church  Avill  come  down  with  smarting  backs,  the  reward  of  those 
who  play  or  laugh  during  the  service.  Then  come  the  young 
men,  who  stand  about  the  churchyard  and  whisper  to  each  other. 
After  them  follow  the  elders  and  the  married  men,  with  the 
women  and  the  girls.  Five  minutes  before  the  half-hour  the 
ringers  change  the  chime  for  a  single  bell.  Then  those  v/ho  are 
outside  gather  in  the  porch  and  wait  for  the  quality. 

When  the  sino-le  bell  began,  there  came  forth  from  the  rectory 
the  rector  himself,  Mr.  Comfort  Eykin,  Doctor  of  Divinity,  who 
was  this  day  to  deliver  his  soul  and  lay  down  his  charge.  He 
wore  the  black  gown  and  Geneva  bands,  for  the  use  of  which 
he  contended.  At  this  time  he  was  a  young  man  of  thirty — tall 
and  thin.  He  stooped  in  the  shoulders  because  he  was  continu- 
ally reading ;  his  face  was  grave  and  austere ;  his  nose  thin  and 
aquiline  ;  his  eyes  bright — never  was  any  man  with  brighter 
eyes  than  my  father ;  his  hair,  which  he  wore  long,  was  brown 
and  curly ;  his  forehead  high,  rather  than  broad ;  his  lips  were 
firm.  In  these  days,  as  my  mother  hath  told  me,  and  as  I  well 
believe,  he  was  a  man  of  singular  comeliness,  concerning  which 
he  cared  nothing.  Always  from  childhood  upward  he  had  been 
grave  in  conversation  and  seriously  inclined  in  mind.  If  I  think 
of  my  father  as  a  boy  (no  one  ever  seems  to  think  that  his  father 
was  once  a  boy),  I  am  fain  to  compare  him  with  Humphrey,  save 


b  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

for  certain  bodily  defects,  my  fatlier  having  been  like  a  priest 
of  the  altar  for  bodily  perfection.  That  is  to  say,  I  am  sure 
that,  like  Humphrey,  he  had  no  need  of  rod  or  ferule  to  make 
him  learn  his  lessons,  and,  like  that  dear  and  fond  friend  of  my 
childhood,  he  would  willingly  sit  in  a  corner  and  read  a  book 
while  the  other  boys  played  and  went  a-hunting  or  a-nesting. 
And  very  early  in  life  he  was  smitten  with  the  conviction  of  sin, 
and  blessed  with  such  an  inward  assurance  of  salvation  as  made 
him  afterwards  steadfast  in  all  afflictions. 

He  w^as  not  a  native  of  this  country,  having  been  born  in 
New  England.  He  came  over,  being  then  eighteen  years  of 
age,  to  study  at  Oxford,  that  university  being  purged  of  malig- 
nants,  and,  at  the  time,  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  godly.  He 
was  entered  of  Balliol  College,  of  which  society  he  became  a 
fellow,  and  was  greatly  esteemed  for  his  learning,  wherein  he 
excelled  most  of  the  scholars  of  his  time.  He  knew  and  could 
read  Hebrew,  Chaldee,  and  the  ancient  Syriac,  as  well  as  Latin 
and  Greek.  Of  modern  languages  he  had  acquired  Arabic,  by 
the  help  of  which  he  had  read  the  book  which  is  called  the  Ko- 
ran of  the  False  Prophet  Mohammed :  French  and  Italian  he 
also  knew  and  could  read  easily.  As  for  his  opinions,  he  was 
an  Independent,  and  that  not  meekly  or  with  hesitation,  but 
with  such  zeal  and  vehemence  that  he  considered  all  who  dif- 
fered from  him  as  his  personal  enemies — nay,  the  very  enemies 
of  God.  For  this  reason,  and  because  his  personal  habits  were 
too  austere  for  those  who  attained  not  to  his  spiritual  height,  he 
was  more  feared  than  loved.  Yet  his  party  looked  upon  him 
as  their  greatest  and  stoutest  champion. 

He  left  Oxford  at  the  age  of  five  or  six  and  twenty,  and  ac- 
cepted the  living  of  Bradford  Orcas,  offered  him  by  Sir  Christo- 
pher Challis  at  that  place.  Here  he  had  preached  for  six  years, 
looking  forward  to  nothing  else  than  to  remain  there,  advancing 
in  grace  and  wisdom,  until  the  end  of  his  days.  So  much  was 
ordered,  indeed,  for  him ;  but  not  quite  as  he  had  designed. 
Let  no  man  say  that  he  knoweth  the  future,  or  that  he  can  shape 
out  his  destiny.  You  shall  hear  presently  how  Benjamin  arro- 
gantly resolved  that  his  future  should  be  what  he  chose,  and 
what  came  of  that  impious  resolution. 

My  father's  face  was  always  austere ;  this  morning  it  was 
more  serious  and  sterner  than  customary,  because  the  day  was 


'  In  Ms  hand  he  carried  his  Bible.  .  .  .  Beside  him  walked  my  mother, 
holding  in  Im'  hdnd  h^r  boy,  my  brother  Barnaby,  then  three  years  of  age. " 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  7 

to  him  the  most  importcant  in  his  life,  and  he  was  about  to  pass 
from  a  position  of  plenty  (the  Rectory  of  Bradford  Orcas  is  not 
rich,  but  it  affords  a  sufficiency)  to  one  of  penury.  Those  who 
knew  him,  however,  had  no  doubt  of  the  course  he  was  about  to 
take.  Even  the  rustics  knew  that  their  minister  would  never 
consent  to  wear  a  surplice  or  to  read  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  or  to  keep  holy  days — you  have  seen  how  the  sexton 
opened  the  box  and  took  out  the  surplice ;  yet  my  father  had 
said  nothing  to  him  concerning  his  intentions. 

In  his  hand  he  carried  his  Bible — his  own  copy,  I  have  it 
still,  the  margins  covered  with  notes  in  his  writing — bound  in 
black  leather,  worn  by  constant  handling,  with  brass  clasps. 
Upon  his  head  he  had  a  plain  black  silk  cap,  which  he  wore 
constantly  in  his  study  and  at  meals  to  keep  off  draughts.  In- 
deed, I  loved  to  see  him  with  the  silk  cap  rather  than  with  his 
tall  steeple-hat,  with  neither  ribbon  nor  ornament  of  any  kind, 
in  which  he  rode  when  he  afterwards  went  about  the  country  to 
break  the  law  in  exhorting  and  praying  with  his  friends. 

Beside  him  walked  my  mother,  holding  in  her  hand  her  boy, 
my  brother  Barnaby,  then  three  years  of  age.  As  for  me,  I  was 
not  yet  born.  She  had  been  weeping ;  her  eyes  were  red  and 
swollen  with  tears ;  but  when  she  entered  the  church  she  wept 
no  more,  bravely  listening  to  the  words  which  condemned  to 
poverty  and  hardship  herself  and  her  children,  if  any  more 
should  be  born  to  her.  Alas,  poor  soul !  What  had  she  done 
that  this  affliction  should  befall  her?  What  had  her  innocent 
boy  done  ?  For  upon  her — not  upon  her  husband — Avould  fall 
the  heavy  burden  of  poverty,  and  on  her  children  the  loss.  Yet 
never  by  a  single  word  of  complaint  did  she  make  her  husband 
sorry  that  he  had  obeyed  the  voice  of  conscience,  even  when 
there  was  nothing  left  in  the  house,  not  so  much  as  the  widow's 
cruse  of  oil.  Alas,  poor  mother,  once  so  free  from  care !  what 
sorrow  and  anxiety  wert  thou  destined  to  endure  for  the  tender 
conscience  of  thy  husband  ! 

At  the  same  time — namely,  at  the  ringing  of  the  single  bell — 
there  came  forth  from  the  manor-house,  hard  by  the  church,  his 
honor.  Sir  Christopher,  with  his  family.  The  worthy  knight 
was  then  about  fifty  years  of  age,  tall  and  handsome  still — in 
his  later  years  there  was  something  of  a  heavenly  sweetness  in 
his  face,  created,  I  doubt  not,  by  a  long  life  of  pious  thoughts 


8  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

and  wortliy  deeds.  His  hair  was  streaked  with  gray,  but  not 
yet  white ;  he  wore  a  beard  of  the  kind  called  stiletto,  which 
was  even  then  an  ancient  fashion,  and  he  was  dressed  more  so- 
berly than  is  common  with  gentlemen  of  his  rank,  having  no 
feather  in  his  hat,  but  a  simple  ribbon  round  it,  and  though  his 
ruffles  were  of  lace  and  the  kerchief  round  his  neck  was  lace, 
the  color  of  his  coat  was  plain  brown.  He  leaned  upon  a  gold- 
headed  cane  on  account  of  an  old  wound  (it  was  inflicted  by  a 
Cavalier's  musket-ball  when  he  was  a  captain  in  the  army  of 
Lord  Essex).  The  wound  left  him  somewhat  lame,  yet  not  so 
lame  but  that  he  could  very  well  walk  about  his  fields  and  could 
ride  his  horse,  and  even  hunt  with  the  otter-hounds.  By  his 
side  walked  madame,  his  wife.  After  him  came  his  son,  Hum- 
phrey, newly  married,  and  with  Humphrey  his  wife ;  and  last 
came  his  son-in-law,  the  Rev.  Philip  Boscorel,  M.A.,  late  fellow 
of  All-Souls'  College,  Oxford,  also  newly  married,  with  his  wife, 
Sir  Christopher's  daughter.  Patience.  Mr.  Boscorel,  like  my 
father,  was  at  that  time  thirty  years  of  age.  Like  him,  too,  his 
face  was  comely  and  his  features  fine ;  yet  they  lacked  the  fire 
and  the  earnestness  which  marked  my  father's.  And  in  his  silken 
cassock,  his  small  white  bands,  his  lace  ruffles,  and  his  dainty 
walk,  it  seemed  as  if  Mr.  Boscorel  thought  himself  above  the 
common  run  of  mankind  and  of  superior  clay.  'Tis  sometimes 
the  way  with  scholars  and  those  who  survey  the  world  from  the 
eminence  of  a  library. 

Sir  Christopher's  face  was  full  of  concern,  because  he  loved 
the  young  man  who  was  this  day  to  throw  away  his  livelihood ; 
and  although  he  was  ready  himself  to  worship  after  the  manner 
prescribed  by  law,  his  opinions  were  rather  Independent  than 
Episcopalian.  As  for  Mr.  Boscorel,  who  was  about  to  succeed 
to  the  ejected  minister,  his  face  wore  no  look  of  triumph,  which 
would  have  been  ungenerous.  He  was  observed,  indeed,  after 
he  had  silently  gone  through  the  service  of  the  day  with  the 
help  of  a  prayer-book,  to  listen  diligently  unto  the  preacher. 

The  people,  I  have  already  said,  knew  already  what  was  about 
to  happen.  Perliaps  some  of  them  (but  I  think  not)  possessed 
a  copy  of  the  old  prayer-book.  This,  they  knew,  was  to  be  re- 
stored, with  the  surplice,  and  the  observance  of  holy  days,  feasts, 
and  fasts,  and  the  kneeling  at  the  administration  of  the  Holy 
Communion.     Our  people  are  craftsmen  as  much  as  thev  are 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  9 

rustics ;  every  week  the  master  clotliiers'  meu  drive  their  pack- 
horses  into  the  village  laden  with  wool,  and  return  with  yarn ; 
they  are  not,  therefore,  so  brutish  and  sluggish  as  most;  yet 
they  made  no  outward  show  of  caring  whether  Prelacy  or  Inde- 
pendence was  to  have  the  sway.  Perhaps  the  abstruse  doctrines 
which  my  father  loved  to  discuss  were  too  high  for  them ;  per- 
haps his  austerity  was  too  strict  for  them,  so  that  he  was  not 
beloved  by  them.  Perhaps,  even,  they  would  have  cared  little 
if  they  had  heard  that  Bishop  Bonner  himself  was  coming  back. 
Religion,  to  country  folk,  means,  mostly,  the  going  to  church 
on  Sunday  morning.  That  done,  man's  service  of  prayer  and 
praise  to  his  Creator  is  also  done.  If  the  form  be  changed  the 
church  remains,  and  the  churchyard;  one  shepherd  followeth 
another,  but  the  flock  is  always  the  same.  Revolutions  over- 
throw kings,  and  send  great  heads  to  the  block ;  but  the  village 
heedeth  not  unless  civil  war  pass  that  way.  To  country  folk, 
what  difference  ?  The  sky  and  the  fields  are  unchanged.  Under 
Queen  Mary  they  are  Papists ;  under  Queen  Elizabeth  they  are 
Protestants.  They  have  the  Prayer  Book  under  King  James 
and  King  Charles  ;  under  Oliver  they  have  had  the  Presbyterian 
and  Independent ;  now  they  have  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer 
and  the  surplice  again.  Yet  they  remain  the  same  people,  and 
tell  the  same  stories,  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  believe  the  same 
things — viz.,  that  Christ  Jesus  saves  the  soul  of  every  man  who 
truly  believes  in  him.  Why,  if  it  were  not  for  his  immortal 
soul — concerning  which  he  takes  but  little  thought — the  rustic 
might  be  likened  unto  the  patient  beast  whom  he  harncsseth  to 
his  plough  and  to  his  muck-cart.  He  changeth  no  more ;  he 
works  as  hard;  he  is  as  long-enduring;  his  eyes  and  his 
thoughts  are  as  much  bound  by  the  hedge,  the  lane,  and  the 
field;  he  thinks  and  invents  and  advances  no  more.  Were  it 
not,  I  say,  for  the  Church,  he  would  take  as  little  heed  of  any- 
thing as  his  ox  or  his  ass ;  his  village  would  become  his  coun- 
try ;  his  squire  would  become  his  king ;  the  nearest  village 
would  become  the  camp  of  an  enemy ;  and  he  would  fall  into 
the  condition  of  the  ancient  Briton  when  Julius  Caesar  found 
every  tribe  fighting  against  every  other. 

I  talk  as  a  fool.     For  sometimes  there  falls  upon  the  torpid 
soul  of  the  rustic  a  spark  which  causes  a  mighty  flame  to  blaze 
up  and  burn  fiercely  within  him.     I  have  read  how  a  simple 
1* 


10  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

monk,  called  Peter  the  Hermit,  drew  thousands  of  poor,  illiter- 
ate, credulous  persons  from  their  homes  and  led  them,  a  mob 
armed  with  scythes  and  pikes,  across  Europe  to  the  deserts  of 
Asia  Minor,  where  they  miserably  perished.  I  have  read  also  of 
Jack  Cade,  and  how  he  drew  the  multitudes  after  him,  crying 
aloud  for  justice  or  death.  And  I  myself  have  seen  these  slug- 
gish spirits  suddenly  fired  with  a  spirit  which  nothing  could 
subdue.  The  sleeping  soul  I  have  seen  suddenly  starting  into 
life :  strength  and  swiftness  have  1  seen  suddenly  put  into  slug- 
gish limbs :  light  and  fire  have  I  seen  gleaming  suddenly  in  dull 
and  heavy  eyes.  Oh!  it  was  a  miracle:  but  I  have  seen  it. 
And,  having  seen  it,  I  cannot  despise  these  lads  of  the  plough, 
these  honest  boys  of  Somerset,  nor  can  I  endure  to  hear  them 
laughed  at  or  contemned. 

Bradford  Orcas,  in  the  Hundred  of  Horethorne,  Somerset,  is 
a  village  so  far  from  the  great  towns  that  one  would  think  a 
minister  might  have  gone  on  praying  and  preaching  after  his 
own  fashion  without  being  discovered.  But  the  arm  of  the  law 
is  long. 

The  nearest  town  is  Sherborne,  in  Dorsetshire,  to  which  there 
is  a  bridle-path  across  the  fields  ;  it  is  the  market-town  for  the 
villao-es  round  it.  Bradford  Orcas  is  a  very  obscure  little  vil- 
lage, with  no  history  and  no  antiquities.  It  stands  in  the  south- 
eastern corner  of  the  county,  close  to  the  western  declivity  of 
the  Gorton  Hills,  which  here  sweep  round  so  as  to  form  a  valley, 
in  which  the  village  is  built  along  the  banks  of  a  stream.  The 
houses  are  for  the  most  part  of  stone,  with  thatched  roofs,  as  is 
the  custom  in  our  country ;  the  slopes  of  the  hills  are  covered 
with  trees,  and  round  the  village  there  stand  goodly  orchards, 
the  cider  from  which  cannot  be  surpassed.  As  for  the  land,  but 
little  of  it  is  arable  ;  the  greater  part  is  a  sandy  loam  or  stone 
brash.  The  church,  which  in  the  superstitious  days  was  dedi- 
cated to  St.  Nicolas,  is  built  upon  a  hillock,  a  rising  ground  in 
the  west  of  the  village.  This  building  of  churches  upon  hillocks 
is  a  common  custom  in  our  parts,  and  seemeth  laudable,  because 
a  church  should  stand  where  it  can  be  seen  by  all  the  people, 
and  by  its  presence  remind  them  of  death  and  of  the  judgment. 
This  practice  doth  obtain  at  Sherborne,  where  there  is  a  very 
noble  church,  and  at  Huish  Episcopi,  and  at  many  other  places 
in  our  county.     Our  church  is  fair  and  commodious,  not  too 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  11 

large  for  the  congregation,  having  in  the  west  a  stone  tower  em- 
battled, and  consisting  of  a  nave  and  chancel  with  a  very  fine 
roof  of  carved  woodwork.  There  is  an  ancient  yew-tree  in  the 
churchyard,  from  which  in  old  times  bows  were  cut ;  some  of 
the  bows  yet  hang  in  the  great  hall  of  the  manor-house.  Among 
the  graves  is  an  ancient  stone  cross,  put  up  no  man  knows  when, 
standing  in  a  six-sided  slab  of  stone,  but  the  top  was  broken  off 
at  the  time  of  the  Reformation ;  two  or  three  tombs  are  in  the 
churchyard,  and  the  rest  is  covered  with  mounds,  beneath  which 
lie  the  bones  and  dust  of  former  generations. 

Close  to  the  churchyard,  and  at  the  northeast  corner,  is  the 
manor-house,  as  large  as  the  church  itself,  but  not  so  ancient. 
It  was  built  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  A  broad  arched  gate- 
way leads  into  a  court,  wherein  is  the  entrance  to  the  house. 
Over  the  gateway  is  a  kind  of  tower,  but  not  detached  from  the 
house.  In  the  wall  of  the  tower  is  a  panel,  lozenge  shaped,  in 
which  are  carved  the  arms  of  the  Challis  family.  The  house 
is  stately,  with  many  gables,  and  in  each  casement  windows  set 
in  richly  carved  stone  tracery.  As  for  the  rooms  within  the 
house,  I  will  speak  of  them  hereafter.  At  present  I  have  the 
churchyard  in  my  mind.  There  is  no  place  upon  the  earth  which 
more  I  love.  To  stand  in  the  long  grass  among  the  graves ;  to 
gaze  upon  the  wooded  hills  beyond,  the  orchards,  the  meadows, 
the  old  house,  the  venerable  church,  the  yew-tree ;  to  listen  to 
the  murmur  of  the  stream  below  and  the  singing  of  the  lark 
above ;  to  feel  the  fresh  breeze  upon  my  cheek — oh !  I  do  this 
daily.  It  makes  me  feel  young  once  more ;  it  brings  back  the 
days  when  I  stood  here  with  the  boys,  and  when  Sir  Christopher 
would  lean  over  the  wall  and  discourse  with  us  gravely  and 
sweetly  upon  the  love  of  God  and  the  fleeting  joys  of  earth 
(which  yet,  he  said,  we  should  accept  and  be  happy  withal  in 
thankfulness),  and  the  happiness  unspeakable  that  awaiteth  the 
Lord's  saints.  Or,  if  my  thoughts  continue  in  the  past,  the 
graveyard  brings  back  the  presence  and  the  voice  of  Mr.  Bos- 
corel. 

"  In  such  a  spot  as  this,"  he  would  say,  speaking  softly  and 
slowly, "  the  pastorals  of  Virgil  or  Theocritus  might  have  been 
written.  Here  would  the  shepherds  hold  their  contests.  Cer- 
tainly they  could  find  no  place,  even  in  sunny  Sicily  or  at  Mantua 
itself,  where  (save  for  three  months  in  the  year)  the  air  is  more 


12  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

deliglitful.  Here  they  need  not  to  avoid  the  burning  heat  of  a 
sun  which  gently  warms  but  never  burns ;  here  they  would  find 
the  shade  of  the  grove  pleasant  in  the  soft  summer  season.  In- 
nocent lambs  instead  of  kids  (which  are  tasteless)  play  in  our 
meadows ;  the  cider  which  we  drink  is,  I  take  it,  more  pleasing 
to  the  palate  than  was  their  wine  flavored  with  turpentine.  And 
our  viols,  violins,  and  spinnets  are  instruments  more  delightful 
than  the  oaten  pipe,  or  the  cithara  itself."  Then  would  he  wave 
his  hand,  and  quote  some  poet  in  praise  of  a  country  life — 

"  There  is  no  man  but  may  make  his  paradise, 
And  it  is  nothing  but  liis  love  and  dotage 
Upon  the  world's  foul  joys  that  keeps  him  out  on  'it. 
For  he  that  lives  retired  iu  mind  and  spirit 
Is  still  in  Paradise." 

"  But,  child,"  he  would  add,  with  a  sigh,  "  one  may  not  always 
wish  to  be  in  Paradise.  The  world's  joys  lie  elsewhere.  Only, 
when  youth  is  gone — then  Paradise  is  best." 

The  service  began  after  the  manner  of  the  Independents,  with 
a  long  prayer,  during  which  the  people  sat.  Mr.  Boscorel,  as  I 
have  said,  went  through  his  own  service  in  silence,  the  Book  of 
Common  Prayer  in  his  hand.  After  the  prayer,  the  minister 
read  a  portion  of  Scripture,  which  he  expounded  at  length  and 
with  great  learning.  Then  the  congregation  sang  that  Psalm 
which  begins — 

"  Triumphing  songs  with  glorious  tongues 
Let's  offer  unto  Him." 

This  done,  the  rector  ascended  the  pulpit  for  the  last  time, 
gave  out  his  text,  turned  his  hour-glass,  and  began  his  sermon. 

He  took  for  his  text  those  verses  in  St.  Paul's  second  epistle 
to  the  Corinthians,  vi.,  3-10,  in  which  the  apostle  speaks  of  his 
own  ministry  as  if  he  were  actually  predicting  the  tribulation 
which  was  to  fall  upon  these  faithful  preachers  of  a  later  time — 
"  In  much  patience,  in  affliction,  in  necessities,  in  distresses,  in 
stripes,  in  imprisonments,  in  tumults,  in  labor,  in  watchings,  in 
fastings — "  could  not  the  very  words  be  applied  to  my  father  ? 

He  read  the  text  three  times,  so  that  everybody  might  fully 
understand  the  subject  upon  which  he  was  to  preach — namely, 
the  faithfulness  required  of  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  I  need 
not  set  down  the  arguments  he  used  or  the  reasons  he  gave  for 
his  resolution  not  to  conform  with  the  Act  of  Uniformity.     The 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  13 

rustics  sat  patiently  listening,  with  no  outward  sign  of  assent  or 
of  sympathy.  But  their  conduct  afterv/ards  proved  abundantly 
to  which  side  their  minds  inclined.  As  for  me,  I  am  a  woman, 
and  therefore  inclined  to  obey  the  voice  of  authority,  so  that, 
had  I  been  born  a  Papist,  such  I  should  have  continued ;  and  I 
am  now  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England  because  my  hus- 
band is  of  that  church,  yet  not  of  the  kind  which  is  called 
high. 

It  behooves  us  all  to  listen  with  respect  when  scholars  and  wise 
men  inquire  into  the  reasons  of  things.  Yet  the  preachings  and 
expositions  which  such  as  my  father  bestowed  upon  their  flocks 
did  certainly  awaken  men's  minds  to  consider  by  themselves  the 
things  which  many  think  too  high  for  them.  It  is  a  habit  which 
may  lead  to  the  foundation  of  false  and  pernicious  sects.  And 
it  certainly  is  not  good  that  men  should  preach  the  doctrines 
of  the  Anabaptists,  the  Fifth  Monarchy  men,  or  the  Quakers. 
Yet  it  is  better  that  some  should  be  deceived  than  that  all  should 
be  slaves.  I  have  been  assured  by  one — I  mean  Humphrey — 
who  hath  travelled,  that  in  those  countries  where  the  priest 
taketh  upon  himself  the  religion  of  the  people,  so  that  they  think 
to  be  saved  by  attending  mass,  by  fasting,  confession,  penance, 
and  so  forth,  that  not  only  does  religion  itself  become  formal, 
mechanical,  and  inanimate,  but  in  the  very  daily  concerns  and 
business  of  life  men  grow  slothful  and  lack  spirit.  Their  re- 
ligion, which  is  the  very  heat  of  the  body,  the  sustaining  and 
vital  force  of  all  man's  actions,  is  cold  and  dead.  Therefore,  all 
the  virtues  are  cold  also,  and  with  them  the  courage  and  the 
spirit  of  the  people.  Thus  it  is  that  Italy  hath  fallen  aside  into 
so  many  small  and  divided  kingdoms.  And  for  this  reason, 
Spain,  in  the  opinion  of  those  who  know  her  best,  is  now  falling 
rapidly  into  decay. 

I  am  well  assured  by  those  who  can  remember  that  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  village-folk  greatly  increased  during  the  period 
when  they  were  encouraged  to  search  the  Scriptures  for  them- 
selves. Many  taught  themselves  to  read,  others  had  their  chil- 
dren taught,  in  order  that  they  might  read  or  hear,  daily,  por- 
tions of  the  Scriptures.  It  is  now  thirty  years  since  authority 
resumed  the  rule ;  the  village-folk  have  again  become,  to  out- 
ward seeming,  sheep  who  obey  without  questioning.  Yet  it  is 
observed  that  when  they  are  within  reach  of  a  town — that  is  to 


14  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

say,  of  a  meeting-house — they  willingly  flock  to  the  service  in 
the  afternoon  and  evening. 

It  vpas  with  the  following  brave  words  that  my  father  con- 
cluded his  discourse : 

"  Seeing,  therefore,  my  brethren,  hov/  clear  is  the  Word  of 
God  on  these  points ;  and  considering  that  we  must  always  obey 
God  rather  tlian  man ;  and  observing  that  here  we  plainly  see 
the  finger  of  God  pointing  to  disobedience  and  its  consequences, 
I  am  constrained  to  disobey.  The  consequence  will  be  to  me 
that  I  shall  stand  in  this  place  no  more :  to  you,  that  you  will 
have  a  stranger  in  your  church.  I  pray  that  he  may  be  a  godly 
person,  able  to  divide  the  AVord,  learned  and  acceptable. 

"  As  for  me,  I  must  go  forth,  perhaps  from  among  you  alto- 
gether. If  persecutions  arise,  it  may  behoove  me  and  mine  to 
seek  again  that  land  beyond  the  seas  whither  my  fathers  fled 
for  the  sake  of  religious  liberty.  Whatever  happens,  I  must 
fain  preach  the  gospel.  It  is  laid  upon  me  to  preach.  If  I  am 
silent,  it  will  be  as  if  death  itself  had  fallen,  upon  me.  My 
brethren,  there  have  been  times — and  those  times  may  return — 
when  the  elect  have  had  to  meet,  secretly,  on  the  sides  of  barren 
hills  and  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  to  pray  together  and  to  hear 
the  Word.  I  say  that  these  times  may  return.  If  they  do,  you 
will  find  me  willing,  I  hope  and  pray,  to  brave  for  you  the  worst 
that  our  enemies  can  devise.  Perhaps,  however,  this  tyranny 
may  pass  over.  Already  the  Lord  hath  achieved  one  great  de- 
liverance for  this  ancient  realm.  Perhaps  another  may  be  in 
his  secret  purposes  when  we  have  been  chastened,  as,  for  our 
many  sins,  we  richly  deserve.  Whether  in  affliction  or  in  pros- 
perity, let  us  always  say, '  The  Lord's  name  be  praised  !' 

"  Now,  therefore,  for  the  sand  is  running  low  and  I  may  not 
weary  the  young  and  the  impatient,  let  me  conclude.  Farewell, 
sweet  Sabbaths  !  Farewell,  the  sweet  expounding  of  the  Word  ! 
Farewell,  sweet  pulpit !  Farewell,  sweet  faces  of  the  souls  which 
I  have  yearned  to  present  pure  and  washed  clean  before  the 
throne !  My  brethren,  I  go  about,  henceforth,  as  a  dog  which  is 
muzzled ;  another  man  will  fill  this  pulpit ;  our  simple  form  of 
worship  is  gone ;  the  prayer-book  and  the  surplice  have  come 
back  again.  Pray  God  we  see  not  confession,  penance,  the  mass, 
the  inquisition,  the  enslavement  of  conscience,  the  stake,  and 
the  martyr's  axe !" 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  15 

Then  he  paused  and  bowed  his  head,  and  everybody  thought 
that  he  had  finished. 

He  had  not.  He  raised  it  again,  and  threw  out  his  arras  and 
shouted  aloud,  while  his  eyes  glowed  like  fire : 

"  No  !  I  will  not  be  silent.  I  will  not.  I  am  sent  into  the 
world' to  preach  the  gospel.  I  have  no  other  business.  I  must 
proclaim  the  Word  as  I  hope  for  everlasting  life :  brethren,  we 
shall  meet  again.  In  the  woods  and  on  the  hills  we  shall  find 
a  temple ;  there  are  houses  where  two  or  three  may  be  gathered 
together,  the  Lord  himself  being  in  their  midst.  Never  doubt 
that  I  am  ready,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  whatever  be  the 
law,  to  preach  the  gospel  of  the  Lord  !" 

He  ended,  and  straightway  descended  the  pulpit  stair,  and 
stalked  out  of  the  church,  the  people  looking  after  him  with  awe 
and  wonder.  But  Mr.  Boscorel  smiled  and  wagged  his  head, 
with  a  kind  of  pity. 


CHAPTER  IL 

OUR    HOME. 

Thus  did  my  father,  by  his  own  act  and  deed,  strip  himself 
of  all  his  worldly  wealth.  Yet,  having  nothing,  he  ceased  not  to 
put  his  trust  in  the  Lord,  and  continued  to  sit  among  his  books, 
never  asking  whence  came  the  food  provided  for  him.  I  think, 
indeed,  so  wrapped  was  he  in  thought,  that  he  knew  not.  As 
for  procuring  his  daily  food,  my  mother  it  was  who  found  out 
the  way. 

Those  who  live  in  other  parts  of  this  kingdom  do  not  know 
what  a  busy  and  populous  country  is  that  of  Somerset.  Apart 
from  the  shipping  and  the  great  trade  with  Ireland,  Spain,  and 
the  West  Indies  carried  on  from  the  port  of  Bristol,  we  have 
our  great  manufactures  of  cloth,  in  which  we  are  surpassed  by 
no  country  in  the  world.  The  town  of  Taunton  alone  can  boast 
of  eleven  hundred  looms  always  at  work  making  sagathies  and 
Des  Roys  ;  there  are  many  looms  at  Bristol,  Avhere  they  make 
for  the  most  part  druggets  and  cantaloons ;  there  they  are  in 
great  numbers  at  that  rich  and  populous  town  of  Frome  Sel- 
■wood,  where  they  manufacture  the  Spanish  medleys.     Besides 


16 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 


the  clothworlvcrs,  wc  have,  in  addition,  our  knitted-stocking 
trade,  which  is  carried  on  mostly  at  Glastonbury  and  Shepton 
Mallet.  Not  only  does  this  flourishing  trade  make  the  masters 
rich  and  prosperous  (it  is  not  uncommon  to  find  a  master  with 
his  twenty — ay,  and  his  forty — thousand  pounds),  hut  it  fills  all 
the  country  with  work,  so  that  the  towns  are  frequent,  populous, 
and  full  of  everything  that  men  can  want ;  and  the  very  villages 
are  not  like  those  which  may  be  seen  in  other  parts,  poor  and 
squalid,  but  well  built  and  comfortable. 

Every  cottage  has  its  spinning-wheel.  The  mother,  when  she 
is  not  doing  the  work  of  the  house,  sits  at  the  wheel ;  the  girls, 
when  they  have  nothing  else  to  do,  are  made  to  knit  stockings. 
Every  week  the  master-clothier  sends  round  his  men  among  the 
villages,  their  pack-horses  laden  with  wool ;  every  week  they 
return,  their  packs  laden  with  yarn,  ready  for  the  loom. 

There  is  no  part  of  England  where  the  people  are  more  pros- 
perous and  more  contented.  Nowhere  are  there  more  towns, 
and  all  thriving :  nowhere  are  the  villages  better  built :  nor  can 
one  find  anywhere  else  more  beautiful  churches.  Because  the 
people  make  good  wages  they  are  independent  in  their  manners  ; 
they  have  learned  things  supposed  to  be  above  the  station  of 
the  humble ;  most  of  them  in  the  towns,  and  many  in  the  vil- 
lages, are  able  to  read.  This  enables  them  to  search  the  Scrip- 
tures, and  examine  in1:o  doctrine  by  the  light  of  their  own  reason, 
guided  by  grace.  And  to  me,  the  daughter  of  a  Nonconforming 
preacher,  it  does  not  seem  Avonderful  that  so  many  of  them 
should  have  become  stiff  and  sturdy  Nonconformists.  This 
was  seen  in  the  year  1685,  and,  again,  two  or  three  years  later, 
when  a  greater  than  Monmouth  landed  on  the  western  shores. 

My  mother,  then,  seeing  no  hope  that  her  husband  would 
earn,  by  any  work  of  his  own,  the  daily  bread  of  the  house- 
hold, bravely  followed  the  example  of  the  women  in  the  village. 
That  is  to  say,  she  set  up  her  spinning-wheel,  and  spent  all  the 
time  that  she  could  spare  spinning  the  wool  into  yarn ;  while 
she  taught  her  little  boy  first,  and  afterwards  her  daughter — as 
soon  as  I  was  old  enough — to  manage  the  needles,  to  knit  stock- 
ings. What  trade,  indeed,  could  her  husband  follow  save  one — 
and  that,  by  law,  prohibited  ?  He  could  not  dig ;  he  could  not 
make  anything ;  he  knew  not  how  to  buy  or  sell ;  he  could  only 
study,  write,  and  preach.     Therefore,  while  he  sat  among  his 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  17 

books  in  one  room,  she  Scat  over  her  wheel  in  the  other,  working 
for  the  master-clothiers  of  Frome  Selwood.  It  still  makes  my 
heart  to  swell  with  pity  and  with  love  when  I  think  upon  my 
mother,  thus  spending  herself  and  being  spent,  working  all  day, 
huckstering  with  the  rough  pack-horsemen  more  accustomed  to 
exchange  rude  jests  with  the  rustics  than  to  talk  with  gentle- 
women. And  this  she  continued  to  do  year  after  year,  cheerful 
and  contented,  so  that  her  husband  should  never  feel  the  pinch 
of  pov^erty.     Love  makes  us  willing  slaves. 

My  father,  happily,  was  not  a  man  whose  mind  was  troubled 
about  food.  He  paid  no  heed  at  all  to  what  he  ate,  provided 
that  it  was  sufficient  for  his  needs  ;  he  would  sup  his  broth  of 
pork  and  turnips  and  bread,  after  thanks  rendered,  as  if  it  were 
the  finest  dish  in  the  world ;  and  a  piece  of  cold  bacon  with  a 
hot  cabbage  would  be  a  feast  for  him.  The  cider  which  he 
drank  was  brewed  by  my  mother  from  her  own  apples ;  to  him 
it  was  as  good  as  if  it  had  been  Sherris  or  Rhenish.  I  say  that 
he  did  not  even  know  how  his  food  was  provided  for  him  ;  his 
mind  was  at  all  times  occupied  with  subjects  so  lofty  that  he 
knew  not  what  was  done  under  his  very  eyes.  The  hand  of 
God,  he  said,  doth  still  support  his,  faithful.  Doubtless  we  can- 
not look  back  upon  those  years  without  owning  that  we  were  so 
supported.  But  my  mother  was  the  instrument ;  nay,  my  father 
sometimes  even  compared  himself  with  satisfaction  unto  the 
prophet  Elijah  whom  the  ravens  fed  in  the  Brook  Cherith, 
bringing  him  flesh  and  bread  in  the  morning,  and  flesh  and 
bread  in  the  evening.  I  suppose  my  father  thought  that  his 
bacon  and  beans  came  to  him  in  the  same  manner. 

Yet  we  should  sometimes  have  fared  but  poorly  had  it  not 
been  for  the  charity  of  our  friends.  Many  a  fat  capon,  green 
goose,  side  of  bacon,  and  young  grunter  came  to  us  from  the 
manor-house,  with  tobacco,  which  my  father  loved,  and  wine 
to  comfort  his  soul ;  yea,  and  clothes  for  us  all,  else  had  we 
gone  barefoot  and  in  rags.  In  this  way  was  many  an  ejected 
Elijah  at  that  time  nourished  and  supported.  Fresh  meat  we 
should  never  have  tasted,  any  more  than  the  humblest  around 
us,  had  it  not  been  for  our  good  friends  at  the  manor-house. 
Those  who  live  in  towns  cannot  understand  how  frugal  and  yet 
sufficient  may  be  the  fare  of  those  who  live  in  the  country  and 
have  gardens  and  orchards.     Cider  was  our  drink,  which  we 

B 


18  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

made  ourselves ;  we  had  some  sweet  apple-trees,  whicli  gave  us 
a  stock  of  russets  and  pippins  for  winter  use ;  we  had  bees  (but 
we  sold  most  of  our  honey) ;  our  garden  grew  salads  and  onions, 
beans  and  the  like ;  skim  milk  we  could  have  from  the  manor- 
house  for  the  fetching ;  for  breakfast  we  had  bread  and  milk, 
for  dinner  bread  and  soft  cheese,  with  a  lettuce  or  an  apple ; 
and  bread  or  bread-and-butter  for  supper.  For  my  father  there 
was  always  kept  a  piece  of  bacon  or  fat  pork. 

Our  house  was  one  of  the  cottages  in  the  village  ;  it  is  a  stone 
house  (often  I  sit  down  to  look  at  it,  and  to  remember  those 
days  of  humility)  with  a  thick  thatch.  It  had  two  rooms  below 
and  two  garrets  above.  One  room  was  made  into  a  study  or 
library  for  my  father,  Avhere  also  he  slept  upon  a  pallet.  The 
other  was  kitchen,  spinning-room,  parlor,  all  in  one.  The  door 
opened  upon  the  garden,  and  the  floor  was  of  stone,  so  that  it 
was  cold.  But  when  Barnaby  began  to  find  the  use  of  his  hands, 
he  procured  some  boards,  which  he  laid  ujdou  the  stones,  and  so 
we  had  a  wooden  floor ;  and  in  winter  across  the  door  we  hung 
a  curtain  to  keep  off  the  wind. 

The  walls  were  whitewashed,  and  over  all  my  mother  had 
written  texts  of  Scripture  with  charcoal,  so  that  godly  admoni- 
tion was  ever  present  to  our  eyes  and  minds.  She  also  em- 
broidered short  texts  upon  our  garments,  and  I  have  still  the 
cradle  in  which  I  was  laid,  carved  (but  I  do  not  know  by  whose 
hand)  with  a  verse  from  the  Word  of  God.  My  father  used  him- 
self, and  would  have  us  employ,  the  words  of  the  Bible  even  for 
the  smaller  occasions  of  daily  use  ;  nor  would  he  allow  that  any- 
thing was  lawful  unless  it  was  sanctioned  by  the  Bible,  hold- 
ing that  in  the  Word  was  everything  necessary  or  lawful.  Did 
Barnaby  go  shooting  with  Sir  Christopher  and  bring  him  a  rab- 
bit ? — Lo  !  David  bade  the  children  of  Israel  teach  the  use  of 
the  bow.  Did  my  mother  instruct  and  amuse  me  with  riddles  ? 
— She  had  the  warrant  of  Scripture  for  it  in  the  example  of 
Samson.  Did  she  sing  psalms  and  spiritual  songs  to  while  away 
the  time  and  make  her  work  less  irksome  and  please  her  little 
daughter? — In  the  congregation  of  Nehemiah  there  were  two 
hundred  forty  and  five  singing  men  and  singing  women. 

My  father  read  and  expounded  the  Bible  to  us  twice  a  day — 
morning  and  evening.  Besides  the  Bible  we  had  few  books 
which  we  could  read.     As  for  my  mother,  poor  soul,  she  had  no 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM,  19 

time  to  read.  As  for  me,  when  I  grew  older  I  borrowed  books 
from  the  manor-house  or  Mr.  Boscorel.  And  there  were  "Old 
Mr.  Dod's  Sayings  "  and  "  Plain  Directions  by  Joseph  Large  " 
always  on  the  shelf  beside  the  Bible, 

Now,  while  my  father  worked  in  his  study  and  my  brother 
Barnaby  either  sat  over  his  lesson-book,  his  hands  rammed  into 
his  hair,  as  if  determined  to  lose  nothing,  not  the  least  scrap  of 
his  portion  (yet  knowing  full  well  that  on  the  morrow  there 
would  not  be  a  word  left  in  his  poor  unlucky  noddle,  and  once 
more  the  whip),  my  mother. would  sit  at  her  wheel  earning  the 
daily  bread.  And,  when  I  was  little,  she  would  tell  me,  speak- 
ing very  softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  wrestling  of  her  hus- 
band with  a  knotty  argument,  all  the  things  which  you  have 
heard — how  my  father  chose  rather  poverty  than  to  worship  at 
the  altar  of  Baal ;  and  how  two  thousand  pious  ministers,  like- 
minded  with  himself,  left  their  pulpits  and  went  out  into  the 
cold  for  conscience'  sake.  So  that  I  was  easily  led  to  think  that 
there  were  no  Christian  martyrs  and  confessors  more  excellent 
and  praiseworthy  than  these  ejected  ministers  (which  still  I  be- 
lieve). Then  would  she  tell  me  further  of  how  they  fared,  and 
how  the  common  people  do  still  reverence  them.  There  was 
the  history  of  John  Norman,  of  Bridgewater  ;  Joseph  Chadwick, 
of  Wrenford ;  Felix  Howe,  of  West  Torrington ;  George  Min- 
ton,  and  many  others.  She  also  instructed  me  very  early  in  the 
history  of  the  Protestant  uprising  over  the  best  half  of  Europe, 
and  showed  me  how,  against  fearful  odds,  and  after  burnings 
and  tortures  unspeakable,  the  good  people  of  Germany,  the 
Netherlands,  and  Great  Britain  won  their  freedom  from  the 
pope,  so  that  my  heart  glowed  within  me  to  think  of  the  great 
goodness  and  mercy  which  caused  me  to  be  born  in  a  Protestant 
country.  She  also  instructed  me,  later,  in  the  wickedness  of 
King  Charles,  whom  they  now  call  a  martyr,  and  in  the  plots  of 
that  king,  and  Laud  his  archbishop,  and  how  king  and  arch- 
bishop were  both  overthrown  and  perished  when  the  people 
arose  and  would  bear  no  more.  In  fine,  my  mother  made  me, 
from  the  beginning,  a  Puritan.  As  I  remember  my  mother  al- 
ways, she  was  pale  of  cheek  and  thin,  her  voice  was  gentle ;  yet 
with  her  very  gentleness  she  would  make  the  blood  to  run  quick 
in  the  veins  and  the  heart  to  beat. 

IIow  have  I  seen  the  boys  spring  to  their  feet  when  she  has 


20  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

talked  with  them  of  the  great  civil  war  and  the  Restoration ! 
But  always  soft  and  gentle ;  her  blue  eyes  never  flashing ;  no 
wrath  in  her  heart ;  but  the  truth,  which  often  causeth  righteous 
anger,  always  upon  her  tongue. 

One  day,  I  remember,  when  I  was  a  little  girl  playing  in  the 
garden,  Mr.  Boscorel  walked  down  the  village  in  his  great  silken 
gown,  which  seemed  always  new,  his  lace  ruffs,  and  his  white 
bands,  looking  like  a  bishop  at  least,  and  walking  delicately, 
holding  up  his  gown  to  keep  it  from  the  dust  and  mud.  When 
he  spoke  it  was  in  a  mincing  speech,  not  like  our  rough  Somer- 
setshire ways.  He  stopped  at  our  gate,  and  looked  down  the 
garden.  It  was  a  summer  day,  the  doors  and  windows  of  the 
cottage  were  open  ;  at  our  window  sat  my  father  bending  over 
his  books,  in  his  rusty  gown  and  black  cap,  thin  and  lank ;  at 
the  door  sat  my  mother  at  her  wheel. 

"  Child,"  said  the  rector,  "  take  heed  thou  never  forget  in 
thine  age  the  thing  which  thou  seest  daily  in  thy  childhood." 

I  knew  not  what  he  meant. 

"Read  and  mark,"  he  said;  "yea,  learn  by  heart  what  the 
Wise  Man  hath  said  of  the  good  woman :  '  She  layeth  her  hand 
to  the  spindle  .  .  .  she  maketh  fine  linen  and  selleth  it  .  .  . 
she  eateth  not  the  bread  of  idleness.  .  .  .  Let  her  works  praise 
her  in  the  irates.'  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    BOYS. 

The  family  of  Challis,  of  Bradford  Orcas,  is  well  known ; 
here  there  has  always  been  a  Challis  from  time  immemorial. 
They  arc  said  to  have  been  on  the  land  before  the  time  of  the 
Conqueror.  But  because  they  have  never  been  a  great  family 
like  the  Mohuns  of  Dunster,  but  only  modest  gentle-folk  with 
some  four  or  five  hundred  pounds  a  year,  they  have  not  suf- 
fered, like  those  great  houses,  from  the  civil  wars,  which,  when 
they  raged  in  the  land,  brought  in  their  train  so  many  attainders, 
sequestrations,  beheadings,  imprisonments,  and  fines.  Whether 
the  barons  fought,  or  whether  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  the 
Challises  remained  at  Bradford  Orcas. 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  21 

Since  tlie  land  is  theirs  and  the  village,  it  is  reasonable  that 
they  should  have  done  everything  that  has  been  done  for  the 
place.  One  of  them  built  the  church,  but  I  know  not  when  ; 
another  built  the  tower ;  another  gave  the  peal  of  bells.  lie 
who  reigned  here  in  the  time  of  Henry  VII.  built  the  manor- 
house  ;  another  built  the  mill ;  the  monuments  in  the  church  are 
all  put  up  to  the  memory  of  Challiscs  dead  and  gone  ;  there  is 
one,  a  very  stately  tomb,  which  figures  to  the  life  Sir  William 
Challis  (who  died  in  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth),  carved  in 
marble,  and  colored,  kneeling  at  a  desk ;  opposite  to  him  is  his 
second  wife,  Grace,  also  kneeling.  Behind  the  husband  are 
three  boys  on  their  knees,  and  behind  the  wife  are  three  girls. 
Apart  from  this  group  is  the  efligy  of  Filipa,  Sir  Christopher's 
first  wife,  with  four  daughters  kneeling  behind  her.  I  was  al- 
ways sorry  for  Filipa,  thus  separated  and  cut  off  from  the  soci- 
ety of  her  husband.  There  are  brasses  on  the  floor  with  figures 
of  other  Challises,  and  tablets  in  the  wall,  and  the  Challis  coat- 
of-arms  is  everywhere  cut  in  lozenges,  painted  in  Avood,  and 
shining  in  the  east  window.  It  always  seemed  to  me,  in  my 
young  days,  that  it  was  the  grandest  thing  in  the  world  to  be  a 
Challis. 

In  this  family  there  was  a  laudable  practice  with  the  younger 
sons  that  they  stayed  not  at  home,  as  is  too  often  their  custom, 
leading  indolent  lives  without  ambition  or  fortune,  but  they  sal- 
lied forth  and  sought  fortune  in  trade,  or  in  the  law,  or  in  the 
Church,  or  in  foreign  service — wherever  fortune  is  to  be  honor- 
ably won — so  that,  though  I  dare  say  some  have  proved  dead 
and  dry  branches,  others  have  put  forth  flowers  and  fruit  abun- 
dantly, forming  new  and  vigorous  trees  sprung  from  the  ancient 
root.  Thus,  some  have  become  judges,  and  some  bishops,  and 
some  great  merchants ;  some  have  crossed  the  ocean,  and  are 
now  settled  in  the  Plantations ;  some  have  attained  rank  and 
estates  in  the  service  of  Austria.  Thus,  Sir  Christopher's  broth- 
er Humphrey  Avent  to  London  and  became  a  Levant  merchant 
and  adventurer,  rising  to  great  honor  and  becoming  alderman. 
I  doubt  not  that  he  would  have  been  made  lord  mayor  but  for 
his  untimely  death.  And  as  for  his  wealth,  which  was  rumored 
to  be  so  great — but  you  shall  hear  of  this  in  due  time. 

That  goodly  following  of  his  household  which  you  have  seen 
enter  the  church  on  Farewell  Sunday,  was  shortly  afterwards 


22  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

broken  into  by  death.  There  fell  upon  the  village  (I  think  it 
was  in  the  year  1665)  the  scourge  of  a  putrid  fever,  of  which 
there  died,  besides  numbers  of  the  village  folk,  madame  herself 
— the  honored  wife  of  Sir  Christopher — Humphrey  his  son,  and 
Madame  Patience  Boscorel,  his  daughter.  There  were  left  to 
Sir  Christopher,  therefore,  only  his  daughter-in-law  and  his  in- 
fant grandson  Robin.  And  in  that  year  his  household  was  in- 
creased by  the  arrival  of  his  grand-nephew  Humphrey.  This 
child  was  the  grandson  of  Sir  Christopher's  brother,  the  Turkey 
or  Levant  merchant  of  whom  I  have  spoken.  He  was  rich  and 
prosperous :  his  ships  sailed  out  every  year  laden  with  I  know 
not  what,  and  returned  with  figs,  dates,  spices,  gums,  silks,  and 
all  kinds  of  precious  commodities  from  Eastern  parts.  It  is,  I 
have  been  told,  a  profitable  trade,  but  subject  to  terrible  dangers 
from  Moorish  pirates,  who  must  be  bravely  fought  and  beaten 
off,  otherwise  ship  and  cargo  will  be  taken,  and  captain  and 
crew  driven  into  slavery.  Mr.  Challis  lived  in  Thames  Street, 
close  to  Tower  Hill.  It  is  said  that  he  lived  here  in  great  splen- 
dor, as  befits  a  rich  merchant  who  is  also  an  alderman. 

Now,  in  the  year  1665,  as  is  very  well  known,  the  plague 
broke  out  in  the  City.  There  were  living  in  the  house  the 
alderman,  his  wife,  his  son,  his  son's  wife,  a  daughter,  and  his 
grandson,  little  Humphrey.  On  the  first  outbreak  of  the  pesti- 
lence they  took  counsel  together,  and  resolved  that  the  child 
should  be  first  sent  away  to  be  out  of  danger,  and  that  they 
would  follow  if  the  plague  spread. 

This  was  done,  and  a  sober  man,  one  of  their  porters  or  ware- 
housemen, carried  the  child,  with  his  nurse,  all  the  way  from 
London  to  Bradford  Orcas.  Alas  !  Before  the  boy  reached  his 
great-uncle,  the  house  in  Thames  Street  was  attacked  by  the 
plague,  and  every  one  therein  perished.  Thus  was  poor  little 
Humphrey  deprived  of  his  parents.  I  know  not  who  were  his 
guardians  or  trustees,  or  what  steps,  if  any,  were  taken  to  in- 
quire into  the  alderman's  estate  ;  but  when,  next  year,  the  Great 
Fire  of  London  destroyed  the  house  in  Thames  Street,  with  so 
many  others,  all  the  estate,  whatever  it  had  been,  vanished,  and 
could  no  more  be  traced.  There  must  have  been  large  moneys 
owing.  It  is  certain  that  he  had  shares  in  ships.  It  has  been 
supposed  that  he  owned  many  houses  in  the  City,  but  they  were 
destroyed  and  their  very  sites  forgotten,  and  no  deeds  or  papers, 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  23 

or  any  proof  of  ownership,  were  left.  Moreover,  there  was  no- 
body charged  with  inquiring-  into  this  orphan's  affairs.  There- 
fore, in  the  general  confusion  nothing  at  all  was  saved  out  of 
what  had  been  a  goodly  property,  and  the  child  Humphrey  was 
left  without  a  guinea  in  the  world.     Thus  unstable  is  Fortune. 

I  know  not  whether  Humphrey  received  a  fall  in  his  infancy, 
or  whether  he  was  born  with  his  deformity,  but  the  poor  lad 
grew  up  with  a  crooked  figure,  one  shoulder  being  higher  than 
the  other,  and  his  legs  short,  so  that  he  looked  as  if  his  arms 
were  too  long  for  him.  We,  who  saw  him  thus  every  day,  paid 
no  heed,  nor  did  he  suffer  from  any  of  those  cruel  gibes  and 
taunts  wdiich  are  often  passed  upon  lads  thus  afflicted.  As  he 
was  by  nature  or  misfortune  debarred  from  the  rough  sports 
which  pleased  his  cousins,  the  boy  gave  himself  up  to  reading 
and  study,  and  to  music.  His  manner  of  speech  was  soft  and 
gentle;  his  voice  was  always  sweet,  and  afterwards  became 
strong  as  well,  so  that  I  have  never  heard  a  better  singer.  His 
face — ah  !  my  brother  Humphrey,  what  a  lovely  face  was  thine  ! 
All  goodness,  surely,  was  stamped  upon  that  face.  Never,  never 
did  an  unworthy  thought  defile  that  candid  soul,  or  a  bad  action 
cast  a  cloud  upon  that  brow  !  Where  art  thou  now,  oh,  Hum- 
phrey !  brother  and  fond  companion — whither  hast  thou  fled  ? 

As  for  Robin,  Sir  Christopher's  grandson,  I  think  he  was  al- 
ways what  he  is  still,  namely,  a  man  of  a  joyous  heart  and  a 
cheerful  countenance.  As  a  boy  he  laughed  continually,  would 
sing  more  willingly  than  read,  would  play  rather  than  work, 
loved  to  course  and  shoot  and  ride  better  than  to  learn  Latin 
grammar,  and  would  readily  off  coat  and  fight  with  any  who  in- 
vited him.  Yet  not  a  fool  or  a  clown,  but  always  a  gentleman 
in  manners,  and  one  who  read  such  things  as  behoove  a  country 
gentleman,  and  scrupulous  as  to  the  point  of  honor.  Such  as 
he  is  still  such  he  was  always.  And  of  a  comely  presence,  with 
a  rosy  cheek  and  bright  eyes,  and  the  strength  of  a  young  Da- 
vid, as  well  as  his  ruddy  and  goodly  countenance.  The  name 
of  David,  I  am  told,  means  "  darling."  Therefore,  ought  my 
Robin  to  have  been  named  David.  There  were  two  other  boys 
— Barnaby,  my  brother,  who  was  six  years  older  than  myself, 
and,  therefore,  always  a  great  boy  ;  and  Benjamin,  the  son  of 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Boscorel,  the  rector.  Barnaby  grew  up  so  broad 
and  strong  that  at  twelve  he  would  have  passed  easily  for  seven- 


24  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

teen ;  liis  square  shoulders,  deep  chest,  and  big  limbs  made  him 
like  a  bull  for  strength.  Yet  he  was  shorter  than  most,  and 
looked  shorter  than  he  was  by  reason  of  his  great  breadth.  He 
was  always  exercising  his  strength ;  he  would  toss  the  hay  with 
the  haymakers,  and  carry  the  corn  for  the  reapers,  and  thresh 
with  the  flail,  and  guide  the  plough.  lie  loved  to  climb  great 
trees,  and  to  fell  them  with  an  axe.  Everybody  in  the  village 
admired  his  wonderful  strength.  Unfortunately,  he  loved  not 
books,  and  could  never  learn  anything,  so  that  when,  by  dint  of 
great  application  and  many  repetitions,  he  had  learned  a  little 
piece  of  a  Latin  verb,  he  straightway  forgot  it  in  the  night,  and 
so,  next  day,  there  was  another  flogging.  But  that  he  heeded 
little.  He  was  five  years  older  than  Robin,  and  taught  him  all 
his  woodcraft — where  to  find  pheasants'  eggs,  how  to  catch 
squirrels,  how  to  trap  weasels  and  stoats,  how  to  hunt  the  otter, 
how  to  make  a  goldfinch  whistle  and  a  raven  talk— never  was 
there  such  a  master  of  that  wisdom  which  doth  not  advance  a 
man  in  the  world. 

Now,  before  Barnaby's  birth,  Jiis  mother,  after  the  manner  of 
Hannah,  gave  him  solemnly  unto  the  Lord  all  the  days  of  his 
life,  and  after  his  birth,  her  husband,  after  the  manner  of  Elka- 
nah,  said  "  Do  what  seemeth  thee  good ;  only  the  Lord  establish 
his  word."  He  was,  therefore,  to  become  a  minister,  like  his 
father  before  him.  Alas !  poor  Barnaby  could  not  even  learn 
the  Latin  verbs,  and  his  heart,  it  was  found,  as  he  grew  older, 
was  wholly  set  upon  the  things  of  this  world.  Wherefore,  my 
mother  prayed  for  him  daily  while  she  sat  at  her  work,  that  his 
heart  might  be  turned,  and  that  he  might  get  understanding. 

As  for  the  fourth  of  the  boys,  Benjamin  Boscorel,  he  was 
about  two  years  younger  than  Barnaby,  a  boy  who,  for  want  of 
a  mother,  and  because  his  father  was  careless  of  him,  grew  up 
rough  and  coarse  in  manners  and  in  speech,  and  boastful  of  his 
powers.  To  hear  Ben  talk  you  would  think  that  all  the  boys 
of  his  school  (the  grammar-school  of  Sherborne)  were  heroes ; 
that  the  Latin  taught  was  of  a  quality  superior  to  that  which 
Ilobin  and  Humphrey  learned  of  my  father ;  and  that  when  he 
himself  went  out  into  the  world  the  superiority  of  his  parts 
would  be  immediately  perceived  and  acknowledged. 

Those  who  watch  boys  at  play  together — girls  more  early 
learn  to  govern  themselves  and  to  conceal  their  thoughts,  if  not 


FOR   FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  26 

their  tempers — may,  after  a  manner,  predict  the  future  character 
of  every  one.  There  is  the  man  who  wants  all  for  himself,  and 
still  wants  more,  and  will  take  all  and  yield  nothing,  save  on 
compulsion,  and  cares  not  a  straw  about  his  neighbor — such  was 
Benjamin  as  a  boy.  There  is  the  man  who  gives  all  generously 
— such  as  Robin.  There  is,  again,  the  man  whose  mind  is  raised 
above  the  petty  cares  of  the  multitude,  and  dwells  apart,  occu- 
pied with  great  thoughts — such  was  Humphrey.  Lastly,  there 
is  the  man  who  can  act  but  cannot  think,  who  is  born  to  be  led, 
who  is  full  of  courage  and  of  strength,  and  leaves  all  to  his  com- 
mander, captain,  or  master — such  was  Barnaby. 

As  I  think  of  these  lads  it  seems  as  if  the  kind  of  man  into 
■which  each  would  grow  must  have  been  stamped  upon  their 
foreheads.  Perhaps  to  the  elders  this  prognostic  was  easy  to 
read. 

They  suffered  me  to  play  with  them  or  to  watch  them  at  play. 
When  the  boys  went  off  to  the  woods  I  went  with  them.  I 
watched  them  set  their  traps — I  ran  when  they  ran.  And  then, 
as  now,  I  loved  Robin  and  Hnmplirey.  But  I  could  not  endure 
— no ;  not  even  the  touch  of  him — Benjamin,  with  the  loud 
laugh  and  the  braggart  voice,  who  laughed  at  me  because  I  was 
a  girl  and  could  not  fight.  The  time  came  when  he  did  not 
laugh  at  me  because  I  was  a  girl.  And  oh !  to  think — only  to 
think — of  the  time  that  came  after  that ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SIR     CHRISTOPHER. 


At  the  mere  remembrance  of  Sir  Christopher,  I  am  fain  to 
lay  down  my  pen  and  to  weep,  as  for  one  whose  goodness  was 
unsurpassed,  and  whose  end  was  undeserved.  Good  works,  I 
know,  are  rags,  and  men  cannot  deserve  the  mercy  of  God  by 
any  merits  of  tjbeir  own  ;  but  a  good  man — a  man  whose  heart 
is  full  of  justice,  mercy,  virtue,  and  truth — is  so  rare  a  creature, 
that  when  there  is  found  such  an  one  his  salvation  seems  as- 
sured. Is  it  not  wonderful  that  there  are  among  us  so  many 
good  Christians,  but  so  few  good  men  ?  I  am,  indeed,  in  pri- 
vate duty  bound  to  acknowledge  Sir  Christopher's  goodness  to 


26  FOR   FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

me  and  to  mine.  He  was,  as  I  have  said,  the  mainstay  of  our 
household.  Had  we  depended  wholly  on  my  mother's  work, 
we  should  sometimes  have  fared  miserably  indeed.  Nay,  he  did 
more.  Though  a  justice  of  the  peace,  he  invited  my  father 
every  Sunday  evening  to  the  manse-house  for  spiritual  conver- 
sation, not  only  for  his  own  profit,  but  knowing  that  to  expound 
was  to  my  father  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  so  that  if  he  could 
not  expound  he  must  die.  In  person.  Sir  Christopher  was  tall ; 
after  the  fashion  (which  I  love)  of  the  days  when  he  was  a 
young  man,  he  wore  his  own  hair,  which,  being  now  white  and 
long,  became  his  venerable  face  much  better  than  any  wig — 
white,  bhick,  or  brown.  He  Avas  generally  dressed,  as  became 
his  station  of  simple  country  gentleman,  in  a  plush  coat  with 
silver  buttons,  and  for  the  most  part  he  wore  boots,  being  of  an 
active  habit  and  always  walking  about  his  fields  or  in  his  gar- 
dens among  his  flowers  and  his  fruit-trees.  He  was  so  good  a 
sportsman  that  with  his  rod,  his  gun,  and  his  hawk  he  provided 
his  table  with  everything  except  beef,  mutton,  and  pork.  In 
religion  he  inclined  to  Independency,  being  above  all  things  an 
upholder  of  private  judgment ;  in  politics,  he  denied  the  divine 
right,  and  openly  said  that  a  Challis  might  be  a  king  as  well  as 
a  Stuart ;  he  abhorred  the  i:>ope  and  all  his  works  ;  and  though 
he  was  now  for  a  monarchy,  he  would  have  the  king's  own 
power  limited  by  the  Parliament.  In  his  manners  he  was  grave 
and  dignified  ;  not  austere,  but  one  who  loved  a  cheerful  com- 
panion. He  rode  once  a  week,  on  market  day,  to  Sherborne, 
where  he  dined  with  his  brother  justices,  hearing  and  discuss- 
ing the  news,  though  news  comes  but  slowly  from  London  to 
these  parts — it  was  fourteen  days  after  the  landing  of  the  king, 
in  the  year  1660,  that  the  bells  of  Sherborne  Minster  rang  for 
that  event.  Sometimes  a  copy  of  the  London  Gazette  came 
down  by  the  Exeter  coach,  or  some  of  the  company  had  lately 
passed  a  night  where  the  coach  stopped,  and  conversed  with 
travellers  from  London  and  heard  the  news.  For  the  rest  of 
the  week,  his  honor  was  at  home.  For  the  most  part  he  sat  in 
the  hall.  In  the  middle  stands  the  great  oak  table  where  all 
the  household  sit  at  meals  together.  There  was  little  differ- 
ence between  the  dishes  served  above  and  those  below  the  salt, 
save  that  those  above  had  each  a  glass  of  strong  ale  or  of  wine 
after  dinner  and  supper.     One  side  of  the  hall  was  hung  with 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  27 

arras  worked  -with  representations  of  herbs,  beasts,  and  birds. 
On  the  other  side  was  the  great  chimney,  where  in  the  winter 
a  noble  fire  was  kept  up  all  day  long.  On  either  side  of  it  hung 
fox  skins,  otter  skins,  polecat  skins,  with  fishing-rods,  stags' 
heads,  horns,  and  other  trophies  of  the  chase.  At  the  end  was 
a  screen  covered  Avith  old  coats-of-mail,  helmets,  bucklers,  lances, 
pikes,  pistols,  guns  with  match-locks,  and  a  trophy  of  swords 
arranged  in  form  of  a  star.  Below  the  cornice  hung  a  row  of 
leathern  jerkins,  black  and  dusty,  which  had  formerly  been  w^orn 
in  place  of  armor  by  the  common  sort.  In  the  oriel  window 
was  a  sloping  desk,  having  on  one  side  the  Bible,  and  on  the 
other  Fox's  "  Book  of  Martyrs."  Below  was  a  shelf  with  other 
books,  such  as  Vincent  Wing's  Almanack,  King  Charles's  "  Gold- 
en Eules,"  "  Glanville  on  Apparitions,"  the  "  Complete  Jus- 
tice," and  the  "  Book  of  Farriery."  There  was  also  in  the  hall 
a  great  sideboard,  covered  with  Turkey  work,  pewter,  brass,  and 
fine  linen.  In  the  cupboard  below  was  his  honor's  plate,  re- 
ported to  be  worth  a  great  deal  of  money. 

Sir  Christopher  sat  in  a  high  chair,  curiously  carved,  with 
arms  and  a  triangular  seat.  It  had  belonged  to  the  family  for 
many  generations.  Within  reach  of  the  chair  was  the  tobacco- 
jar,  his  pipe,  and  his  favorite  book — namely,  "  The  Gentleman's 
Academic  :  or  the  Book  of  St.  Alban's,  being  a  work  on  Hunt- 
ing, Hawking,  and  Armorie,"  by  Dame  Juliana  Berners,  who 
wrote  it  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  Sir  Christopher  loved 
especially  to  read  aloud  a  chapter  in  which  it  was  proved  that 
the  distinction  between  gentleman  and  churl  began  soon  after 
the  creation,  when  Cain  proved  himself  a  churl,  and  Seth  was 
created  gentleman  and  esquire,  or  armiger,  by  Adam,  his  father. 
This  distinction  was  renewed  after  the  flood  by  Noah  himself, 
a  gentleman  by  lineal  descent  from  Seth.  In  the  case  of  his 
sons,  Ham  was  the  churl,  and  the  other  two  were  the  gentle- 
men. I  have  sometimes  thought  that,  according  to  this  author, 
all  of  us  who  are  descended  from  Shem  or  Japhet  should  be 
gentlemen,  in  which  case  there  would  be  no  churl  in  Great  Brit- 
ain at  all.  But  certainly  there  are  many ;  so  that,  to  my  poor 
thinking.  Dame  Juliana  Berners  must  be  wrong. 

There  is,  in  addition  to  the  great  hall,  the  best  parlor.  But 
as  this  was  never  wanted,  the  door  of  it  was  never  opened  ex- 
cept at  cleaning  time.     Then,  to  be  sure,  one  saw  a  room  fur- 


28  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

nished  very  grand,  with  chairs  in  Turkey  work,  and  hung  round 
with  family  portraits.  The  men  were  clad  in  armor,  as  if  they 
had  all  been  soldiers  or  commanders  ;  the  women  were  mostly 
dressed  as  shepherdesses,  with  crooks  in  their  hands  and  flow- 
ing robes.  In  the  garden  was  a  long  bowling  green,  where  in 
summer  Sir  Christopher  took  great  pleasure  in  that  ancient 
game  ;  below  the  garden  was  a  broad  fish-pond,  made  by  dam- 
ming the  stream  ;  above  and  below  the  pond  there  are  trout,  and 
in  the  pond  are  carp  and  jack.  A  part  of  the  garden  was  laid 
out  for  flowers,  a  part  for  the  stillroom,  and  a  part  for  fruit.  I 
have  never  seen  anywhere  a  better  ordered  garden  for  the  still- 
room.  Everything  grew  therein  that  the  housewife  wants : 
sweet  cicely,  rosemary,  burnet,  sweet  basil,  chives,  dill,  clary, 
angelica,  lipwort,  tarragon,  thyme,  and  mint ;  there  were,  as 
Lord  Bacon,  in  his  "  Essay  on  Gardens,"  would  have,  "  whole 
alleys  of  them  to  have  the  pleasure  when  you  walk  or  tread." 
There  were  thick  hedges  to  keep  off  the  east  wind  in  spring,  so 
that  one  would  enjoy  the  sun  when  that  cold  wind  was  blowing. 
But  in  Somerset  that  wind  hath  not  the  bitterness  that  it  pos- 
sesses along  the  eastern  shores  of  the  land. 

Every  morning  Sir  Christopher  sat  in  his  justice's  chair  under 
the  helmets  and  the  coats  of  armor.  Sometimes  gypsies  would 
be  brought  before  him,  charged  with  stealing  poultry  or  poison- 
ing pigs ;  or  a  rogue  and  vagabond  would  stray  into  the  parish ; 
these  gentry  were  very  speedily  whipped  out  of  it.  As  for  our 
own  people,  there  is  nowhere  a  more  quiet  and  orderly  village ; 
quarrels  there  are  with  the  clothiers'  men,  who  will  still  try  to 
beat  down  the  value  of  the  women's  work,  and  bickerings  some- 
times between  the  women  themselves.  Sir  Christopher  was 
judge  for  all.  Truly  he  was  a  patriarch  like  unto  Abraham,  and 
a  father  to  his  people.  Never  was  sick  man  suffered  to  want 
for  medicines  and  succor ;  never  was  aged  man  suffered  to  lack 
food  and  fire  ;  did  any  youth  show  leanings  towards  sloth,  profli- 
gacy, or  drunkenness,  he  was  straightway  admonished,  and  that 
right  soundly,  so  that  his  back  and  shoulders  would  remind  him 
for  many  days  of  his  sin.  By  evil-doers  Sir  Christopher  was 
feared  as  much  as  he  was  beloved  by  all  good  men  and  true. 
This  also  is  proper  to  one  in  high  station  and  authority. 

In  the  evening  he  amused  himself  in  playing  backgammon 
with  the  boys,  or  chess  with  his  son-in-law,  Mr.  Boscorel ;  but 


^^  Every  morning  Sir  Christopher  sat  in  his  Justice's  chair Some- 
times gypsies  would  be  brought  before  him  charged  with  stealing  poultry." 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  29 

tlie  latter  with  less  pleasure,  because  he  was  generally  defeated 
in  the  game.  He  greatly  delighted  iu  the  conversation  and  so- 
ciety of  that  learned  and  ingenious  gentleman,  though  on  mat- 
ters of  religion  and  of  politics  his  son-in-law  belonged  to  the 
opposite  way  of  thinking. 

I  do  not  know  why  Mr,  Boscorel  took  upon  himself  holy  or- 
ders. God  forbid  that  I  should  speak  ill  of  any  in  author- 
ity, and  especially  of  one  who  was  kind  and  charitable  to  all, 
and  refused  to  become  a  persecutor  of  those  who  desired  freedom 
of  conscience  and  of  speech.  But  if  the  chief  duty  of  a  minis- 
ter of  the  gospel  is  to  preach,  then  was  Mr.  Boscorel  little  better 
than  a  dog  who  cannot  bark.  He  did  not  preach  ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  could  not,  like  my  father,  mount  the  pulpit,  Bible  in 
hand,  and  teach,  admonish,  argue,  and  convince  without  a  writ- 
ten word.  He  read  every  Sunday  morning  a  brief  discourse, 
which  might,  perhaps,  have  instructed  Oxford  scholars,  but  would 
not  be  understood  by  the  common  people.  As  for  arguments 
on  religion,  spiritual  conversation,  or  personal  experience  of 
grace,  he  would  never  suffer  such  talk  in  his  presence,  because 
it  argued  private  judgment  and  caused,  he  said,  the  growth  of 
spiritual  pride.  And  of  those  hot  Gospellers  whose  zeal  brings 
them  to  prison  and  the  pillory,  he  spoke  with  contempt.  His 
conversation,  I  must  acknowledge,  was  full  of  delight  and  in- 
struction, if  the  things  which  one  learned  of  him  were  not  vani- 
ties. He  had  travelled  in  Italy  and  in  France,  and  he  loved  to 
talk  of  poetry,  architecture,  statuary,  medals  and  coins,  antiqui- 
ties and  so  forth — things  harmless,  and,  perhaps,  laudable  in 
themselves,  but  for  a  preacher  of  the  gospel,  who  ought  to  think 
of  nothing  but  his  sacred  calling,  they  are  surely  superfluities. 
Or  he  would  talk  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  strange  coun- 
tries, and  especially  of  the  pope.  This  person,  whom  I  have 
been  taught  to  look  upon  as  from  the  very  nature  of  his  pre- 
tensions the  most  wicked  of  living  men,  Mr.  Boscorel  regarded 
with  as  much  toleration  as  he  bestowed  upon  an  Independent. 
Thus  he  would  tell  us  of  London  and  the  manners  of  the  great ; 
of  the  king,  whom  he  had  seen,  and  the  court,  seeming  to  wink 
at  things  which  one  ought  to  hold  in  abhorrence.  He  even  told 
us  of  the  playhouse,  which,  according  to  my  father,  is  the  most 
subtle  engine  ever  invented  by  the  devil  for  the  destruction  of 


30  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

souls.  Yet  Mr.  Boscorel  sighed  to  think  that  he  could  no  long- 
er visit  that  place  of  amusement.  He  loved  also  music,  and 
played  movingly  upon  the  violoncello  ;  and  he  could  make  pict- 
ures with  pen,  pencil,  or  brush.  I  have  some  of  his  paintings 
still,  especially  a  picture  which  he  drew  of  Humphrey  playing 
the  fiddle,  his  great  eyes  looking  upward  as  if  the  music  were 
drawing  his  soul  to  heaven.  I  know  not  why  he  painted  a  halo 
about  his  face.  Mr.  Boscorel  also  loved  poetry,  and  quoted 
Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson  more  readily  than  the  word  of  God. 
In  person  he  was  of  a  goodly  countenance,  having  clear-cut 
features ;  a  straight  nose,  rather  long ;  soft  eyes,  and  a  gentle 
voice.  He  was  dainty  in  his  apparel,  loving  fine  clean  linen, 
and  laced  neckerchiefs,  but  was  not  a  gross  feeder  ;  he  drank 
but  little  wine,  but  would  discourse  upon  fine  wines,  such  as  the 
Tokay  of  Hungary,  Commandery  wine  from  Cyprus,  and  the 
like,  and  he  seemed  better  pleased  to  watch  the  color  of  the 
wine  in  the  glass,  and  to  breathe  its  perfume,  than  to  drink  it. 
Above  all  things  he  hated  coarse  speech  and  rude  manners.  He 
spoke  of  men  as  if  he  stood  on  an  eminence  watching  them,  and 
always  with  pity,  as  if  he  belonged  to  a  nobler  creation.  How 
could  such  a  man  have  such  a  son  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     RUNAWAY. 

Everybody  hath  heard,  and  old  people  still  remember,  how 
one  act  after  the  other  was  passed  for  the  suppression  of  the 
Nonconformists,  whom  the  Church  of  England  tried  to  extir- 
pate, but  could  not.  Had  these  laws  been  truly  carried  into 
effect  there  would  have  been  great  suffering  among  the  Dissent- 
ers ;  but,  in  order  to  enforce  them,  every  man's  hand  would 
have  been  turned  against  his  neighbor,  and  this — thank  God  ! — 
is  not  possible  in  Somerset. 

For  example,  the  Act  of  Conformity  provided  not  only  for 
the  ejectment  of  Nonconforming  ministers  (which  was  duly  car- 
ried out),  but  also  enacted  that  none  of  them  should  take  schol- 
ars without  the  license  of  the  bishop.  Yet  many  of  the  ejected 
ministers  maintained  themselves  in  this  way,  openly,  without  the 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  31 

bishop's  license.  They  were  not  molested,  though  they  might 
be  threatened  by  some  hot  Episcopalian ;  nor  were  the  bishops 
anxious  to  set  the  country  afire  by  attempting  to  enforce  this 
law.  One  must  not  take  from  an  honest  neighbor,  whatev'er  an 
unjust  law  may  command,  his  only  way  of  living. 

Again,  the  act  passed  two  years  later  punished  all  persons 
with  fine  and  imprisonment  who  attended  conventicles.  Yet  the 
conventicles  continued  to  be  held  over  the  whole  country,  be- 
cause it  was  impossible  for  the  justices  to  fine  and  imprison 
men  with  whom  they  sat  at  dinner  every  market-day,  with  whom 
they  took  their  punch  and  tobacco,  and  whom  they  knew  to  be 
honest  and  God-fearing  folk.  Again,  how  could  they  fine  and 
imprison  their  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  Why,  in  every  family 
there  were  some  who  loved  the  meeting-house  better  than  the 
steeple-house.  Laws  have  little  power  when  they  are  against 
the  conscience  of  the  people. 

Thirdly,  there  was  an  act  prohibiting  ministers  from  residing 
within  five  miles  of  the  village  or  town  where  they  had  preached. 
This  was  a  most  cruel  and  barbarous  act,  because  it  sent  the 
poor  ministers  away  from  the  help  of  their  friends.  Yet  how 
was  it  regarded  ?  My  father,  for  his  part,  continued  to  live  at 
Bradford  Orcas  without  let  or  hinderance,  and  so,  no  doubt,  did 
many  more. 

Again,  another  act  was  passed  giving  authority  to  justices  of 
the  peace  to  break  open  doors  and  to  take  in  custody  persons 
found  assembling  for  worship.  I  have  heard  of  disturbances  at 
Taunton,  where  the  magistrates  carried  things  with  a  high  hand ; 
but  I  think  the  people  who  met  to  worship  after  their  own  fash- 
ion were  little  disturbed.  Among  the  Churchmen  were  some, 
no  doubt,  who  remembered  the  snubs  and  rubs  they  had  them- 
selves experienced,  and  the  memory  may  have  made  them  re- 
vengeful. All  the  persecution,  it  is  certain,  was  not  on  the  side 
of  the  Church.  There  was,  for  instance,  the  case  of  Dr.  Walter 
Raleigh,  Dean  of  Wells,  who  was  clapped  into  a  noisome  pris- 
on where  the  plague  had  broken  out.  He  did  not  die  of  that 
disease,  but  was  done  to  death  in  the  jail,  barbarously,  by  one 
David  Barrett,  shoemaker,  who  was  never  punished  for  the  mur- 
der, but  was  afterwards  made  constable  of  the  City.  There  was 
also  the  case  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Piers,  whom  I  have  myself  seen, 
for  he  lived  to  a  good  old  age.     He  was  a  prebendary  of  Wells, 


32  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

and,  being  driven  forth,  was  compelled  to  turn  farmer,  and  to 
work  with  his  own  hands — digging,  hoeing,  ploughing,  reaping, 
and  threshing — when  he  should  have  been  in  his  study.  Every 
week  this  reverend  and  learned  doctor  of  divinity  was  to  be  seen 
at  Ilminster  Market,  standing  beside  the  pillars  with  his  cart, 
among  the  farmers  and  their  wives,  selling  his  apples,  cheese, 
and  cabbp.ges. 

I  say  that  no  doubt  many  remembered  these  things.  Yet  the 
affection  of  the  people  went  forth  to  the  Nonconformists  and  the 
ejected  ministers,  as  was  afterwards  but  too  well  proved.  I 
have  been  speaking  of  things  which  happened  before  my  recol- 
lection. It  was  in  the  year  1665,  four  years  after  the  ejection, 
that  I  was  born.  My  father  named  me  Grace  Abounding,  but  I 
have  never  been  called  by  any  other  name  than  ray  first.  I  was 
thus  six  years  younger  than  my  brother  Barnaby,  and  two  years 
younger  than  Robin  and  Humphrey. 

The  first  thing  that  I  can  recollect  is  a  kind  of  picture,  pre- 
served, so  to  speak,  in  my  head.  At  the  open  door  is  a  woman 
spinning  at  the  wheel.  She  is  a  woman  with  a  pale,  grave  face ; 
she  works  diligently,  and  for  the  most  part  in  silence  ;  if  she 
speaks,  it  is  to  encourage  or  to  admonish  a  little  girl  who  plays 
in  the  garden  outside.  Her  lips  move  as  she  works,  because  she 
communes  with  her  thoughts  all  day  long.  From  time  to  time 
she  turns  her  head  and  looks  with  anxiety  into  the  other  room, 
where  sits  her  husband  at  his  table. 

Before  him  stand  three  boys.  They  are  Barnaby,  Robin,  and 
Humphrey.  They  are  learning  Latin.  The  room  is  piled  with 
books  on  shelves  and  books  on  the  floor.  In  the  corner  is  a  pal- 
let, which  is  the  master's  bed  by  night.  I  hear  the  voices  of 
the  boys  who  repeat  their  lessons,  and  the  admonishing  of  their 
master.  I  can  see  through  the  open  door  the  boys  themselves. 
One,  a  stout  and  broad  lad,  is  my  brother  Barnaby ;  he  hangs 
his  head  and  forgets  his  lesson,  and  causes  his  father  to  punish 
him  every  day.  He  receives  admonition  with  patience,  yet  prof- 
iteth  nothing.  The  next  is  Humphrey ;  he  is  already  a  lad  of 
grave  and  modest  carriage,  who  loves  his  book  and  learns  dili- 
gently. The  third  is  Robin,  whose  parts  are  good,  were  his  ap- 
plication equal  to  his  intelligence.  He  is  impatient,  and  longs 
for  the  time  when  he  may  close  his  book  and  go  to  play  again. 

Poor  Barnaby  !  at  the  sight  of  a  Latin  grammar  he  would  feel 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  33 

sick.  He  would  willingly  Lave  taken  a  flogging  every  day — to 
be  sure,  that  generally  happened  to  liim — in  order  to  escape  liis 
lessons  and  be  off  to  the  fields  and  woods. 

It  was  the  sight  of  his  rueful  face — yet  never  sad  except  at 
lessons — which  made  my  mother  sigh  when  she  saw  him  dull 
but  patient  over  his  book.  Had  he  stayed  at  home  I  know  not 
what  could  have  been  done  with  him,  seeing  that  to  become  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel  was  beyond  even  the  power  of  prayer 
(the  Lord  having  clearly  expressed  his  will  in  this  matter).  He 
would  have  had  to  clap  on  a  leathern  apron,  and  become  a  wheel- 
wright or  blacksmith ;  nothing  better  than  an  honest  trade  was 
possible  for  him. 

But  (whetlier  happily  or  not)  a  strange  whim  seized  the  boy 
when  he  was  fourteen  years  of  age.  He  would  go  to  sea.  How 
he  came  to  think  of  the  sea  I  know  not ;  he  had  never  seen  the 
sea ;  there  were  no  sailors  in  the  village  ;  there  was  no  talk  of 
the  sea.  Perhaps  Humphrey,  who  read  many  books,  told  him 
of  the  great  doings  of  our  sailors  on  the  Spanish  main  and  else- 
where. Perhaps  some  of  the  clothiers'  men,  who  are  a  roving 
and  unsettled  crew,  had  been  sailors ;  some,  I  know,  had  been 
soldiers  under  Oliver.  However,  this  matters  not,  Barnaby  must 
needs  become  a  sailor. 

When  first  he  broke  this  resolution,  which  he  did  secretly,  to 
his  mother,  she  began  to  weep  and  lament,  because  everybody 
knows  how  dreadful  is  the  life  of  a  sailor,  and  how  full  of  dan- 
gers. She  begged  him  to  put  the  thought  out  of  his  head,  and 
to  apply  himself  again  to  his  books. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  it  is  no  use.  What  comes  in  at  one 
ear  goes  out  at  the  other.  Nothing  sticks ;  I  shall  never  be  a 
scholar." 

"  Then,  my  son,  learn  an  honest  trade." 

"  What  ?  Become  the  village  cobbler — or  the  blacksmith  ? 
Go  hat  in  hand  to  his  honor,  when  my  father  should  have  been 
a  bishop,  and  my  mother  is  a  gentlewoman  ?  That  will  I  not. 
I  will  go  and  be  a  sailor.  All  sailors  are  gentlemen.  I  shall 
rise,  and  become  first  mate,  and  then  second  captain,  and  lastly, 
captain  in  command.  A¥ho  knows  ?  I  may  go  and  fight  the 
Spaniard,  if  I  am  lucky." 

"Oh,  my  son,  canst  thou  not  stay  at  home  and  go  to  church, 
and  consider  the  condition  of  thine  immortal  soul  ?  Of  sailors 
2*  C 


34  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

it  is  well  known  that  their  language  is  made  up  of  profane  oaths, 
and  that  they  are  all  profligates  and  drunkards.  Consider,  my 
son" — my  mother  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm — "what  were 
heaven  to  me,  if  I  have  not  my  dear  children  with  me  as  well 
as  my  husband  ?  How  could  I  praise  the  Lord  if  I  were  think- 
ing of  my  son  who  was  not  with  me  ?  but — ah  !  Heaven  forbid 
the  thought !" 

Barnaby  made  no  reply.  What  could  he  say  in  answer  to  my 
mother's  tears  ?  Yet  I  think  slie  must  have  understood  very  well 
that  her  son,  having  got  this  resolution  into  his  head,  would  nev- 
er give  it  up. 

"  Oh !"  she  said,  "  when  thou  wast  a  little  baby  in  my  arms, 
Barnaby — who  art  now  so  big  and  strong  " — she  looked  at  him 
with  the  wonder  and  admiration  that  women  feel  when  their 
sons  grow  big  and  stout — "  I  prayed  that  God  would  accept  thee 
as  an  offering  for  his  service.  Thou  art  vowed  unto  the  Lord, 
my  son,  as  much  as  Samuel.  Do  you  think  he  complained  of 
his  lessons  ?  What  would  have  happened,  think  you,  to  Samuel, 
if  he  had  taken  off  his  ephod  and  declared  that  he  would  serve 
no  longer  at  the  altar,  but  must  take  spear  and  shield,  and  go  to 
fight  the  Amalekite  ?" 

Said  Barnaby,  in  reply,  speaking  from  an  unregenerate  heart, 
"  Mother,  had  I  been  Samuel,  to  wear  an  ephod  and  to  learn  the 
Latin  syntax  every  day,  I  should  have  done  that.  Ay  !  I  would 
have  done  it,  even  if  I  knew  that  at  the  first  skirmish  an  arrow 
would  pierce  my  heart." 

It  was  after  a  great  flogging,  on  account  of  the  passive  voice 
or  some  wrestling  with  the  syntax,  that  Barnaby  plucked  up 
courage  to  tell  his  father  what  he  wished  to  do. 

"With  my  consent,"  said  my  father,  sternly,  ''thou  shalt 
never  become  a  sailor.  As  soon  would  I  send  thee  to  become  a 
buffoon  in  a  playliouse.     Never  dare  to  speak  of  it  again." 

Barnaby  hung  his  head  and  said  nothing. 

Then  my  mother,  who  knew  his  obstinate  disposition,  took 
him  to  Sir  Christopher,  who  chid  him  roundly,  telling  him  that 
there  was  work  for  him  on  land,  else  he  would  have  been  born 
beside  the  coast,  where  the  lads  take  naturally  to  the  sea ;  that 
being,  as  he  was,  only  an  ignorant  boy,  and  landborn,  he  could 
not  know  the  dangers  which  he  would  encounter;  that  some 
ships  are  cast  away  on  desert  islands,  where  the  survivors  re- 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  35 

main  in  misery  until  they  died,  and  some  on  lands  where  savages 
devour  them,  and  some  are  dragged  down  by  calamaries  and 
other  dreadful  monsters,  and  some  are  burned  at  sea,  their  crews 
having  to  choose  miserably  between  burning  and  drowning,  and 
some  are  taken  by  the  enemy,  and  the  sailors  clapped  into  dun- 
geons and  tortured  by  the  accursed  Inquisition. 

Many  more  things  did  Sir  Christopher  set  forth,  showing  the 
miserable  life  and  the  wretched  end  of  the  sailor.  But  Barnaby 
never  changed  countenance ;  and  though  my  mother  bade  him 
note  this  and  mark  that,  and  take  heed  unto  his  honor's  words, 
his  face  showed  no  melting.  'Twas  always  an  obstinate  lad ; 
nay,  it  was  his  obstinacy  alone  which  kept  him  from  his  learn- 
ing. Otherwise,  he  might  perhaps  have  become  as  great  a  schol- 
ar as  Humphrey. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  when  Sir  Christopher  had  no  other  word  to 
say,  "  with  submission,  I  would  still  choose  to  be  a  sailor,  if  I 
could." 

In  the  end  he  obtained  his  wish.  That  is  to  say,  since  no 
one  would  help  him  towards  it,  he  helped  himself.  And  this,  I 
think,  is  the  only  way  in  which  men  do  ever  get  what  they  want. 

It  happened  one  evening  that  there  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage a  man  with  a  pipe  and  tabor,  on  which  he  played  so  mov- 
ingly that  all  the  people  turned  out  to  listen.  For  my  own  part 
I  was  with  my  mother,  yet  I  ran  to  the  garden-gate  and  leaned 
my  head  over,  drawn  by  the  sound  of  the  music.  Presently  the 
boys  and  girls  began  to  take  hands  and  to  dance.  I  dare  not 
say  that  to  dance  is  sinful,  because  David  danced.  But  it  was 
so  regarded  by  my  father,  so  that  when  he  passed  by  them,  on 
his  way  home  from  taking  the  air,  and  actually  saw  his  own  son 
Barnaby  in  the  middle  of  the  dancers,  footing  it  with  them  all, 
leading  one  girl  up  and  the  other  down  at  "  John  come  and  kiss 
me  now,"  he  was  seized  with  a  mighty  wrath,  and,  catching  his 
son  sharply  by  the  ear,  led  him  out  of  the  throng  and  so  home. 
For  that  evening  Barnaby  went  supperless  to  bed,  with  the 
promise  of  such  a  flogging  in  the  morning  as  would  cause  him 
to  remember  for  the  rest  of  his  life  the  sinfulness  of  dancing. 
Never  had  I  seen  my  father  so  angry.  I  trembled  before  his 
wrathful  eyes.  But  Barnaby  faced  him  with  steady  looks,  mak- 
ing answer  none,  yet  not  showing  the  least  repentance  or  fear. 
I  thought  it  was  because  a  flogging  had  no  terrors  for  him.    The 


36  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM, 

event  proved  that  I  was  wrong,  for  when  we  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing he  was  gone.  He  had  crept  down-stairs  in  the  night ;  he 
had  taken  half  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  great  cantle  of  soft  cheese, 
and  had  gone  away.  I  knew  for  my  part,  very  well,  that  he  had 
not  gone  for  fear  of  the  rod ;  he  had  run  away  with  design  to 
go  to  sea.  Perhaps  he  had  gone  to  Bristol ;  perhaps  to  Plym- 
outh ;  perhaps  to  Lyme.  My  mother  wept,  and  my  father  sighed  ; 
and  for  ten  years  more  we  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  of 
Barnaby,  not  even  whether  he  was  dead  or  living. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BENJAMIN,  LORD    CHANCELLOR. 

Summer  follows  winter,  and  winter  summer,  in  due  course, 
turning  children  into  young  men  and  maidens,  changing  school 
into  work,  and  play  into  love,  and  love  into  marriage,  and  so 
onwards  to  the  churchyard,  where  we  all  presently  lie,  hopeful 
of  Heaven's  mercy,  whether  Mr.  Boscorel  did  stand  beside  our 
open  grave  in  his  white  surplice,  or  my  father  in  his  black  gown. 

Barnaby  was  gone  ;  the  other  three  grew  tall,  and  would  still 
be  talking  of  the  lives  before  them.  Girls  do  never  look  for- 
ward to  the  future  with  the  eagerness  and  joy  of  boys.  To 
the  dullest  boy  it  seems  a  fine  thing  to  be  master  of  his  own  ac- 
tions, even  if  that  liberty  lead  to  whipping-post,  pillory,  or  gal- 
lows. To  boys  of  ambition  and  imagination  the  gifts  of  Fortune 
show  like  the  splendid  visions  of  a  prophet.  They  think  that 
earthly  fame  will  satisfy  the  soul.  Perhaps  women  see  these 
glories  and  tlieir  true  worth  with  clearer  eye,  as  not  desiring 
them.  And  truly  it  seems  a  small  thing,  after  a  life  spent  in 
arduous  toil,  and  with  one  foot  already  in  the  grave,  to  obtain 
fortune,  rank,  or  title. 

Benjamin  and  Humphrey  were  lads  of  ambition.  To  them, 
but  in  fields  which  lay  far  apart,  the  best  life  seemed  to  be  that 
which  is  spent  among  men  on  the  ant-hill  where  all  are  driving 
and  being  driven,  loading  each  other  with  burdens  intolerable, 
or  with  wealth  or  with  honors,  and  then  dying  and  being  for- 
gotten in  a  moment — which  we  call  London.  In  the  kindly 
country  one  stands  apart  and  sees  the  vanity  of  human  wishes. 


"  He  was  seized  with  a  mighty  wrath,  and  catching  his  son  sharply  by  ttie 
ear,  led  Mm  oiii  of  the  throng,  and  so  home." 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  37 

Yet  tlie  ambition  of  Humphrey,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  no- 
ble, because  it  Avas  not  for  his  own  advancement,  but  for  the 
good  of  mankind. 

"  I  shall  stay  at  home,"  said  Robin,  "  You  two  may  go  if 
you  please.  Perhaps  you  will  like  the  noise  of  London,  where 
a  man  cannot  hear  himself  speak,  they  say,  for  the  roaring  of 
the  crowd,  the  ringing  of  the  bells,  and  the  rumbling  of  the  carts. 
As  for  me,  what  is  good  enough  for  my  grandfather  will  be  sure- 
ly good  enough  for  me." 

It  should,  indeed,  be  good  enough  for  anybody  to  spend  his 
days  after  the  manner  of  Sir  Christopher,  administering  justice 
for  the  villagers,  with  the  weekly  ordinary  at  Sherborne  for 
company,  the  green  fields  and  his  garden  for  pleasure  and  for 
exercise,  and  the  welfare  of  his  soul  for  prayer.  Robin,  besides, 
loved  to  go  forth  with  hawk  and  gun  ;  to  snare  the  wild  creat- 
ures ;  to  hunt  the  otter  and  the  fox ;  to  bait  the  badger,  and 
trap  the  stoat  and  weasel ;  to  course  the  hares.  But  cities  and 
crowds,  even  if  they  should  be  shouting  in  his  honor,  did  never 
draw  him,  even  after  he  had  seen  them.  Nor  was  he  ever  tempted 
to  believe  any  manner  of  life  more  full  of  delight  and  more  con- 
sistent with  the  end  of  man's  creation  than  the  rural  life,  the  air 
of  the  fields,  the  following  of  the  plough  for  the  men,  and  the 
spinning-wheel  for  the  women. 

"  I  shall  be  a  lawyer,"  said  Benjamin,  puflfing  out  his  cheeks 
and  squaring  his  shoulders.  "  Very  well,  then,  I  shall  be  a 
great  lawyer.  What  ?  None  of  your  pettifogging  tribe  for  me  : 
I  shall  step  to  the  front,  and  stay  there.  What  ?  Some  one 
must  have  the  prizes  and  the  promotion.  There  are  always 
places  falling  vacant  and  honors  to  be  given  away :  they  shall 
be  given  to  me.     Wliy  not  to  me  as  well  as  another  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Robin,  "  you  are  strong  enough  to  take  them, 
willy-nilly," 

"  I  am  strong  enough,"  he  replied,  with  conviction.  "  First,  I 
shall  be  called  to  the  outer  bar,  where  I  shall  plead  in  stuff — I 
saw  them  at  Exeter  last  'sizes.  Next,  I  shall  be  summoned  to 
become  king's  counsel,  when  I  shall  flaunt  it  in  silk.  Who  but 
I  ?"  Then  he  seemed  to  grow  actually  three  inches  taller,  so 
great  is  the  power  of  imagination.  He  was  already  six  feet  in 
height,  his  shoulders  broad,  and  his  face  red  and  fiery,  so  that 
now  he  looked  very  big  and  tall,     "  Then  my  inn  will  make  me 


38  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

a  benclier,  and  I  shall  sit  at  the  high  table  in  term-time.  And 
the  attorneys  shall  run  after  me  and  fight  with  each  other  for 
my  services  in  court,  so  that  in  every  great  case  I  shall  be  heard 
thundering  before  the  jury,  and  making  the  witnesses  perjure 
themselves  with  terror — for  which  they  will  be  afterwards  flogged. 
I  shall  belong  to  the  king's  party — none  of  your  canting  Whigs 
for  me.  When  the  high -treason  cases  come  on,  I  shall  be 
the  counsel  for  the  crown.  That  is  the  high-road  to  advance- 
ment." 

"  This  is  very  well,  so  far,"  said  Robin,  laughing.  *'  Ben  is 
too  modest,  however.     He  does  not  get  on  fast  enough." 

"All  in  good  time,"  Ben  replied.  "  I  mean  to  get  on  as  fast 
as  anybody.  But  I  shall  follow  the  beaten  road.  First,  favor 
with  attorneys  and  those  who  have  suits  in  the  courts ;  then 
the  ear  of  the  judge.  I  know  not  how  one  gets  the  ear  of  the 
judge — "  he  looked  despondent  for  a  moment,  then  he  held  up 
his  head  again — "  but  I  shall  find  out.  Others  have  found  out 
— why  not  I  ?     What  ?     I  am  no  fool,  am  I  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  Ben.     But  as  yet  we  stick  at  king's  counsel." 

"  After  the  ear  of  the  judge,  the  favor  of  the  crown.  What 
do  I  care  who  is  king  ?  It  is  the  king  who  hath  preferment  and 
place  and  honors  in  his  gift.  Where  these  are  given  aAvay,  there 
shall  I  be  found.  Next  am  I  made  sergeant-at-law.  Then  I  am 
saluted  as  '  brother '  by  the  judges  on  the  bench,  while  all  the 
others  burst  with  envy.  After  that  I  shall  myself  be  called  to 
the  bench.  I  am  already  '  my  lord — '  why  do  you  laugh,  Robin  ? 
— and  a  knight :  Sir  Benjamin  Boscorel — Sir  Benjamin."  Here 
he  puffed  out  his  cheeks  again  and  swung  his  shoulders  like  a 
very  great  person  indeed. 

"  Proceed,  Sir  Benjamin,"  said  Humphrey,  gravely,  while 
Robin  laughed. 

"  When  I  am  a  judge  I  promise  you  I  will  rate  the  barristers 
and  storm  at  the  witnesses  and  admonish  the  jury  until  there 
shall  be  no  other  question  in  their  minds  but  to  find  out  first 
what  is  my  will  in  the  case,  and  then  to  govern  themselves  ac- 
cordingly. I  will  be  myself  judge  and  jury  and  all.  Oh !  I 
have  seen  the  judge  at  last  Exeter  'sizes.  He  made  all  to  shake 
in  their  shoes.  I  shall  not  stop  there.  Chief  baron  I  shall  be, 
perhaps — but  on  that  point  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind — 
and  then  lord  chancellor."    He  paused  to  take  breath,  and  looked 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  39 

around  him,  grandeur  and  authority  upon   his  brow.     "  Lord 
chancellor,"  he  repeated,  "  on  the  Avoolsack  !" 

"  You  will  then,"  said  Robin,  "  be  raised  to  the  peerage — first 
Lord  Boscorel ;  or  perhaps,  if  your  loi'dship  will  so  honor  this 
poor  village,  Lord  Bradford  Orcas — " 

"Earl  of  Sherborne  I  have  chosen  for  title,"  said  Benjamin. 
"  And  while  I  am  climbing  up  the  ladder,  where  wilt  thou  be, 
Humphrey?  Grovelling  in  the  mud  with  the  poor  devils  who 
cannot  rise  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  shall  have  a  small  ladder  of  my  own,  Ben.  I  find 
great  comfort  in  the  thought  that  when  your  lordship  is  roaring 
and  bawling  with  the  gout — your  noble  toe  being  like  a  ball  of 
fire  and  your  illustrious  foot  swathed  in  flannel — I  shall  be  called 
upon  to  drive  away  the  pain,  and  you  will  honor  me  with  the 
title  not  only  of  humble  cousin,  but  also  of  rescuer  and  preserver. 
Will  it  not  be  honor  enough  to  cure  the  Right  Honorable  the 
Earl  of  Sherborne  (first  of  the  name),  the  lord  chancellor,  of  his 
gout  and  to  restore  him  to  the  duties  of  his  great  office,  so  that 
once  more  he  shall  be  the  dread  of  evil-doers  and  of  all  who  have 
to  appear  before  him  ?  As  yet,  my  lord,  your  extremities,  I  per- 
ceive, are  free  from  that  disease — the  result,  too  often,  of  that 
excess  in  wine  which  besets  the  great." 

Here  Robin  laughed  again,  and  so  did  Benjamin.  Nobody 
could  use  finer  language  than  Humphrey,  if  he  pleased. 

"  A  fine  ambition  !"  said  Ben.  "  To  wear  a  black  velvet  coat 
and  a  great  wig;  to  carry  a  gold-headed  cane;  all  day  long  to 
listen  while  the  patient  tells  of  his  gripes  and  pains ;  to  mix 
boluses  and  to  compound  nauseous  draughts  !" 

"  Well,"  Humphrey  laughed,  "  if  you  are  lord  chancellor,  Ben, 
you  will,  I  hope,  give  us  good  laws,  and  so  make  the  nation  hap- 
py and  prosperous.  While  you  are  doing  this,  I  will  be  keeping 
you  in  health  for  the  good  of  the  country.  I  say  that  this  is  a 
fine  ambition." 

"  And  Robin,  here,  will  sit  in  the  great  cliair,  and  have  the 
rogues  haled  before  him,  and  order  the  head-borough  to  bring 
out  his  cat-o'-nine-tails.  Li  the  winter  evenings  he  will  play 
backgammon,  and  in  the  summer  bowls.  Then  a  posset,  and 
to  bed.  And  never  any  change  from  year  to  year.  A  fine  life, 
truly !" 

"  Truly,  I  think  it  is  a  very  fine  life,"  said  Robin  ;  "  while  you 


40  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM, 

make  the  laws,  I  will  take  care  that  tliey  are  obeyed.  What 
better  service  is  there  than  to  cause  good  laws  to  be  obeyed  ? 
Make  good  laws,  my  lord  chancellor,  and  be  thankful  that  you 
w^ill  have  faithful,  law-abiding  men  to  carry  them  out." 

Thus  they  talked.  Presently  the  time  came  when  the  lads 
must  leave  the  village  and  go  forth  to  prepare  for  such  course 
as  should  be  allotted  to  them,  whether  it  led  to  greatness  or  to 
obscurity. 

Benjamin  went  first,  being  sixteen  years  of  age  and  a  great 
fellow,  as  I  have  said,  broad-shouldered  and  lusty,  with  a  red 
face,  a  strong  voice,  and  a  loud  laugh.  In  no  respect  did  he 
resemble  his  father,  who  was  delicate  in  manner  and  in  speech. 
He  was  to  be  entered  at  Gray's  Inn,  where,  under  some  counsel 
learned  in  the  law,  he  was  to  read  until  such  time  as  he  should 
be  called. 

He  came  to  bid  me  farewell,  w^hich  at  first,  until  he  frightened 
me  with  the  things  he  said,  I  took  kindly  of  him. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  London,  and,  I  suppose,  I 
shall  not  come  back  to  this  village  for  a  long  time.  Nay,  were 
it  not  for  thee,  I  should  not  wish  to  come  back  at  all." 

"  Why  for  me,  Ben  ?" 

"  Because — "  here  his  red  face  became  redder,  and  he  stam- 
mered a  little  ;  but  not  much,  for  he  was  ever  a  lad  of  confidence 
— "  because,  child,  thou  art  not  yet  turned  twelve,  which  is  young 
to  be  hearing  of  such  a  thing.  Yet  a  body  may  as  well  make 
things  safe.  And  as  for  Humphrey  or  Robin  interfering,  I  will 
break  their  heads  with  my  cudgel  if  they  do.  Remember  that, 
then."     He  shook  his  finger  at  me,  threatening. 

"  In  what  business  should  they  interfere  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Kiss  me,  Grace  " —  here  he  tried  to  lay  his  arm  round  my 
neck,  but  I  ran  away.  "  Oh  !  if  thou  art  skittish,  I  care  not : 
all  in  good  time.  Very  well,  then ;  let  us  make  things  safe. 
Grace,  when  I  come  back  thou  wilt  be  seventeen  or  eighteen, 
which  is  an  age  when  girls  should  marry — " 

"  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  marrying,  Ben." 

"  Not  yet.  If  I  mistake  not,  child,  thou  wilt  then  be  as  beau- 
tiful as  a  rose  in  June." 

"  I  want  no  foolish  talk,  Ben.     Let  me  go." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  twenty-one  years  of  age,  practising  in  the 
courts.     I  shall  go  the  Western  Circuit,  in  order  to  see  thee 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  41 

often — partly  to  keep  an  eye  upon  tliee  and  partly  to  warn  off 
other  men.  Because,  child,  it  is  my  purpose  to  marry  thee  my- 
self.    Think  upon  that,  now." 

At  .this  I  laughed. 

*'  Laugh  if  you  please,  my  dear ;  I  shall  marry  thee  as  soon 
as  the  way  is  open  to  the  bench  and  the  woolsack.  What  ?  I  can 
see  a  long  way  ahead.  I  will  tell  thee  what  I  see.  There  is  a 
monstrous  great  crowd  of  people  in  the  street  staring  at  a  glass 
coach.  *  Who  is  the  lovely  lady  ?'  they  ask.  '  The  lovely  lady ' 
— that  is  you,  Grace ;  none  other — '  with  the  diamonds  at  her 
neck  and  the  gold  chain,  in  the  glass  coach  ?'  says  one  who 
knows  her  liveries :  '  'tis  the  lady  of  the  great  lord  chancellor, 
the  Earl  of  Sherborne.'  And  the  women  fall  green  with  envy  of 
her  happiness  and  great  good-fortune  and  her  splendor.  Cour- 
age, child  ;  1  go  to  prepare  the  way.  Oh  !  thou  knowest  not  the 
grand  things  that  I  shall  pour  into  thy  lap  when  I  am  a  judge." 

This  was  the  first  time  tliat  any  man  spoke  to  me  of  love. 
But  Benjamin  was  always  masterful,  and  had  no  respect  for 
such  a  nice  point  as  the  wooing  of  a  maiden — which,  methinks, 
should  be  gentle  and  respectful,  not  as  if  a  woman  was  like  a 
savage  to  be  tempted  by  a  string  of  beads,  or  so  foolish  as  to 
desire  with  her  husband  such  gauds  as  diamonds,  or  gold  chains, 
or  a  glass  coach.  Nor  doth  a  woman  like  to  be  treated  as  if 
she  was  to  be  carried  off  by  force  like  the  Sabine  women  of  old. 

The  rector  rode  to  London  with  his  son.  It  is  a  long  journey, 
over  rough  ways  ;  but  it  pleased  him  once  more  to  see  that  great 
city,  where  there  are  pictures  and  statues  and  books  to  gladden 
the  hearts  of  such  as  love  these  things.  And  on  the  way  home 
he  sojourned  for  a  few  days  at  his  old  college  of  All-Souls, 
where  were  still  left  one  or  two  of  his  old  friends.  Then  he 
rode  back  to  his  village.  "  There  are  but  two  places  in  this 
country,"  he  said,  "  or  perhaps  three,  at  most,  where  a  gentle- 
man and  a  scholar,  or  one  who  loveth  the  fine  arts,  would  choose 
to  live.  They  are  London  and  Oxford,  and  perhaps  the  sister 
university  upon  the  Granta.  Well,  I  have  once  more  been 
privileged  to  witness  the  humors  of  the  court  and  the  town : 
I  have  once  more  been  permitted  to  sniff  the  air  of  a  great 
library.  Let  us  be  thankful."  He  showed  his  thankfulness 
with  a  sigh  which  was  almost  a  groan. 

It  was  three  years  before  we  saw  Benjamin  again.     Then  he 


42  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

returned,  but  not  for  long.  Like  liis  father,  he  loved  London 
better  than  the  country,  but  for  other  reasons.  Certainly,  he 
cared  nothing  for  those  arts  which  so  much  delighted  the  rector, 
and  the  air  of  a  coffee-house  pleased  him  more  than  the  perfume 
of  books  in  a  library.  When  he  left  us  he  was  a  rustic ;  when 
he  came  back  he  was  already  what  they  call  a  fopling  :  that  is 
to  say,  when  he  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  Sir  Christopher,  his 
grandfather,  he  wore  a  very  fine  cravat  of  Flanders  lace,  with 
silken  hose,  and  lace  and  ribbons  at  his  wrist.  He  was  also 
scented  with  bergamot,  and  wore  a  peruke,  which,  while  he 
talked,  he  combed  and  curled,  to  keep  the  curls  of  this  mon- 
strous head-dress  in  place.  Gentlemen  must,  I  suppose,  wear 
this  invention,  and  one  of  the  learned  professions  must  show  the 
extent  of  the  learning  by  the  splendors  of  his  full-bottomed  wig. 
Yet  1  think  that  a  young  man  looks  most  comely  while  he  wears 
his  own  hair.  He  had  cocked  his  hat,  on  which  were  bows,  and 
he  wore  a  sword.  He  spoke  also  in  a  mincing  London  manner, 
having  forsworn  the  honest  broad  speech  of  Somerset ;  and  (but 
not  in  the  presence  of  his  elders)  he  used  strange  oaths  and 
ejaculations. 

"  Behold  him  !"  said  his  father,  by  no  means  displeased  at 
his  son's  foppery,  because  he  ever  loved  the  city  fashions  and 
thought  that  a  young  man  did  well  to  dress  and  to  comport  him- 
self after  the  way  of  the  world.  "  Behold  him  !  Thus  he  sits 
in  the  coffee-house ;  thus  he  shows  himself  in  the  pit.  Youth 
is  the  time  for  finery  and  for  folly.  Alas  !  would  that  we  could 
bring  back  that  time  !  What  saith  John  Dryden — glorious  John 
— of  Sir  Fopling  ? — 

'  His  various  modes  from  various  fashions  follow : 
One  taught  the  toss,  and  one  the  new  French  wallow ; 
His  sword-lvnot  this,  his  cravat  that,  designed, 
And  this  the  yard-long  snake  he  twirls  behind. 
Fiom  one  the  sacred  periwig  he  gained, 
Which  wind  ne'er  blew,  nor  touch  of  hat  profaned.' " 

"  Well,  Ben,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  if  the  mode  can  help 
thee  to  the  bench  why  not  follow  the  mode  ?" 

"  It  will  not  hinder,  sir,"  Ben  replied.  "  A  man  who  hath  his 
fortune  to  make  does  well  to  be  seen  everywhere,  and  to  be 
dressed  like  other  men  of  his  time." 

One   must   do   Benjamin   the   justice  to   acknowledge   that 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  43 

though,  like  the  young  gentlemen  liis  friends  and  companions 
his  dress  was  foppish,  and  his  talk  was  of  the  pleasures  of  the 
town,  he  suffered  nothing  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  advance- 
ment. He  was  resolved  upon  being  a  great  lawyer,  and,  there- 
fore, if  he  spent  the  evening  in  drinking,  singing,  and  making- 
merry,  he  was  reading  in  chambers  or  else  attending  the  courts 
all  the  day,  and  neglected  nothing  that  would  make  him  master 
of  his  profession.  And,  though  of  learning  he  had  little,  his 
natural  parts  were  so  good,  and  his  resolution  was  so  strong,  that 
I  doubt  not  he  would  have  achieved  his  ambition  had  it  not  been 
for  the  circumstances  which  afterwards  cut  short  his  career. 
His  course  of  life,  by  his  own  boasting,  was  profligate ;  his 
friends  were  drinkers  and  revellers ;  his  favorite  haunt  was  the 
tavern,  where  they  all  drank  punch  and  sang  ungodly  songs,  and 
smoked  tobacco ;  and  of  religion  he  seemed  to  have  no  care 
whatever. 

I  was  afraid  that  he  would  return  to  the  nauseous  subject 
which  he  had  opened  three  years  before.  Therefore,  I  contin- 
ued with  my  mother,  and  would  give  him  no  chance  to  speak 
with  me.  But  he  found  me,  and  caught  me  returning  home  one 
evening. 

"  Grace,"  he  said,  "  I  feared  that  I  might  have  to  go  away 
without  a  word  alone  with  thee," 

"  I  want  no  words  alone,  Benjamin.  Let  me  pass  !"  For  he 
stood  before  me  in  the  way. 

"  Not  so  fast,  pretty  !" — he  caught  me  by  the  Avrist,  and, 
being  a  young  man  so  strong  and  determined,  he  held  me  as  by 
a  vise.  "  Not  so  fast,  Mistress  Grace.  First,  my  dear,  let  me 
tell  thee  that  my  purpose  still  holds — nay  " — here  he  swore  a 
most  dreadful,  impious  oath — "  I  am  more  resolved  than  ever. 
There  is  not  a  woman,  even  in  London,  that  is  to  be  compared 
with  thee,  child.  What  ?  Compared  with  thee  ?  Why,  they 
are  like  the  twinkling  stars  compared  with  the  glorious  queen 
of  night.  What  did  I  say  ? — that  at  nineteen  thou  wouldst  be  a 
miracle  of  beauty  ?  Nay,  that  time  hath  come  already  !  I  love 
thee,  child  !  I  love  thee,  I  say,  ten  times  as  much  as  ever  I 
loved  thee  before  !" 

He  gasped,  and  then  breathed  hard ;  but  still  he  held  me 
fast. 

"  Idle  compliments  cost  a  man  nothing,  Benjamin.     Say  what 


44  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

you  meant  to  say  and  let  me  go.  If  you  liold  me  any  longer  I 
will  cry  out  and  bring  your  father  to  learn  the  reason." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  keep  thee.  1  have  said  what  I 
wanted  to  say.  My  time  hath  not  yet  arrived.  I  am  shortly  to 
be  called,  and  shall  then  begin  to  practise.  When  I  come  back 
here  again,  'twill  be  with  a  ring  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other 
the  prospect  of  the  woolsack.  Think  upon  that  while  I  am 
gone.  '  Your  ladyship  '  is  finer  than  plain  '  madame,'  and  the 
court  is  more  delightful  than  a  village  green  among  the  pigs  and 
ducks.  Think  upon  it  well :  thou  art  a  lucky  girl ;  a  plain  vil- 
lage girl  to  be  promoted  to  a  coronet !  However,  I  have  no  fears 
for  thee ;  thou  wilt  adorn  the  highest  fortune.  Thou  wilt  be 
worthy  of  the  great  place  whither  I  shall  lead  thee.  What  ?  Is 
Sir  George  Jeffreys  a  better  man  than  I  ?  Is  he  of  better  family  ? 
Had  he  better  interest?  Is  he  a  bolder  man?  Not  so.  Yet 
was  Sir  George  a  common  sergeant  at  twenty-three,  and  recorder 
at  thirty ;  chief-justice  of  Chester  at  thirty-two.  What  he  has 
done  I  can  do.  Moreover,  Sir  George  hath  done  me  the  honor 
to  admit  me  to  his  company,  and  will  advance  me.  This  he  hath 
promised,  both  in  his  cups  and  when  he  is  sober.  Think  it  over, 
child  :  a  ring  in  one  hand  and  a  title  in  the  other !" 

So  Benjamin  went  away  again.  I  was  afraid  when  I  thought 
of  him  and  his  promise,  because  I  knew  him  of  old ;  and  his 
eyes  were  as  full  of  determination  as  when  he  would  fight  a  lad 
of  his  own  age  and  go  on  fighting  till  the  other  had  had  enough. 
Yet  he  could  not  marry  me  against  my  will.  His  own  father 
would  protect  me,  to  say  nothing  of  mine. 

I  should  have  told  him  then — as  I  had  told  him  before — that 
I  would  never  marry  him.  Then,  perhaps,  he  would  have  been 
shaken  in  his  purpose.  The  very  thought  of  marrying  him 
filled  me  with  terror  unspeakable.  I  was  afraid  of  him  not  only 
because  he  was  so  masterful — nay,  women  like  a  man  to  be 
strong  of  will — but  because  he  had  no. religion  in  him  and  lived 
like  an  atheist,  if  such  a  wretch  there  be  ;  at  all  events,  with 
unconcern  about  his  soul ;  and  because  his  life  was  profligate, 
his  tastes  were  gross,  and  he  was  a  drinker  of  much  wine. 
Even  at  the  manor-house  I  had  seen  him  at  supper  drinking 
until  his  cheeks  were  puffed  out  and  his  voice  grew  thick. 
What  kind  of  happiness  would  there  be  for  a  wife  whose  hus- 
band has  to  be  carried  home  by  his  varlets  too  heavy  with  drink 
to  stand  or  to  speak  ? 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  45 

Alas !  there  is  one  thing  which  girls,  happily,  do  never  appre- 
hend. They  cannot  understand  how  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to 
become  so  possessed  with  the  idea  of  their  charms  (which  they 
hold  themselves  as  of  small  account,  knowing  how  fleeting  they 
are,  and  of  what  small  value)  that  he  will  go  through  fire  and 
water  for  that  woman ;  yea,  and  break  all  the  commandments, 
heedless  of  his  immortal  soul,  rather  than  suffer  another  man  to 
take  her — and  that  even  though  he  knows  that  the  poor  creat- 
ure loves  him  not,  or  loves  another  man.  If  maidens  knew  this, 
I  think  that  they  would  go  in  fear  and  trembling  lest  they  should 
be  coveted  by  some  wild  beast  in  human  shape,  and  prove  the 
death  of  the  gallant  gentleman  whom  they  would  choose  for 
their  lover.  Or  they  would  make  for  themselves  convents  and 
hide  in  them,  so  great  would  be  their  fear.  Bat  it  is  idle  to 
speak  of  this,  because,  say  what  one  will,  girls  can  never  under- 
stand the  power  and  the  vehemence  of  love,  Avhen  once  it  hath 
seized  and  doth  thoroughly  possess  a  man. 


CHAPTER   YII. 

MEDICINE     DOCTOR. 


Humphrey  did  not,  like  Benjamin,  brag  of  the  things  he 
would  do  when  he  should  go  forth  into  the  world.  Neverthe- 
less, he  thought  much  about  his  future,  and  frequently  he  dis- 
coursed with  me  about  the  life  that  he  fain  would  lead.  A 
young  man,  I  think,  wants  some  one  with  whom  he  may  speak 
freely  concerning  the  thoughts  which  fill  his  soul.  We  who  be- 
long to  the  sex  which  receives  but  does  not  create  or  invent, 
which  profits  by  man's  good  work,  and  suffers  from  the  evil 
which  he  too  often  does,  have  no  such  thoughts  and  ambitions. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  would  say,  "  take  upon  me  holy  orders,  as 
Mr,  Boscorel  would  have  me,  promising,  in  my  cousin  Robin's 
name,  this  living  after  his  death,  because,  though  I  am  in  truth 
a  mere  pauper  and  dependant,  there  are  in  me  none  of  those 
prickings  of  the  Spirit  which  I  could  interpret  into  a  divine  call 
for  the  ministry ;  next,  because  I  could  not  in  conscience  sign 
the  Thirty -nine  Articles  while  I  still  held  that  the  Nonconformist 
way  of  worship  was  more  consonant  with  the  Word  of  God. 


46  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

And,  again,  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  law,  which  forbids  any 
but  a  well-formed  man  from  serving  at  the  altar,  hath  in  it  some- 
thing eternal.  It  denotes  that  as  no  cripple  may  serve  at  the 
earthly  altar,  so  in  heaven,  of  which  the  altar  is  an  emblem,  all 
those  who  dwell  therein  shall  be  perfect  in  body  as  in  soul. 
What,  then,  is  such  an  one  as  myself,  who  hath  some  learning 
and  no  fortune,  to  do  ?  Sir  Christopher,  my  benefactor,  will 
maintain  me  at  Oxford  until  I  have  taken  a  degree.  This  is 
more  than  I  could  have  expected.  Therefore,  I  am  resolved  to 
take  a  degree  in  medicine.  It  is  the  only  profession  fit  for  a 
misshapen  creature  like  me.  They  will  not  laugh  at  me  when 
I  alleviate  their  pains." 

"  Could  any  one  laugh  at  you,  Humphrey  ?" 
"  Pray  Heaven  I  frighten  not  the  ladies  at  the  first  aspect  of 
me."  He  laughed,  but  not  with  merriment ;  for,  indeed,  a  cripple 
or  a  hunchback  cannot  laugh  mirthfully  over  his  own  misfortune. 
"  Some  men  speak  scornfully  of  the  j^rofession,"  he  went  on. 
"  The  great  French  playwright,  INIonsieur  Moliere,  hath  made 
the  physicians  the  butt  and  laughing-stock  of  all  Paris.  Yet 
consider.  It  is  medicine  which  prolongs  our  days  and  re- 
lieves our  pains.  Before  the  science  was  studied,  the  wretch 
who  caught  a  fever  in  the  marshy  forest  lay  down  and  died ;  an 
ague  lasted  all  one's  life  ;  a  sore  throat  putrefied  and  killed ;  a 
rheumatism  threw  a  man  upon  the  bed  from  which  he  would 
never  rise.  The  physician  is  man's  chief  friend.  If  our  sov- 
ereigns studied  the  welfare  of  humanity  as  deeply  as  the  art  of 
war,  they  would  maintain,  at  a  vast  expense,  great  colleges  of 
learned  men  continually  engaged  in  discovering  the  secrets  of 
nature — the  causes  and  the  remedies  of  disease.  What  better 
use  can  a  man  make  of  his  life  than  to  discover  one — only  one 
— secret  which  will  drive  away  part  of  the  agony  of  disease  ? 
The  Jews,  more  merciful  than  the  Romans,  stupefied  their  crim- 
inals after  they  were  crucified ;  so  they  died,  indeed,  but  their 
sufferings  were  less.  So  the  physician,  though  in  the  end  all 
men  must  die,  may  help  them  to  die  without  pain.  Nay,  I  have 
even  thought  that  we  might  devise  means  of  causing  the  patient 
by  some  potent  drug  to  fall  into  so  deep  a  sleep  that  even  the 
surgeon's  knife  shall  not  cause  him  to  awaken." 

He  therefore,  before  he  entered  at  Oxford,  read  with  my  father 
many  learned  books  of  the  ancients  on  the  science  and  practice 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.    '  47 

of  medicine,  and  studied  botany  -with  the  lielp  of  such  books  as 
he  could  procure. 

Some  men  have  but  one  side  to  them — that  is  to  say,  the  only 
active  part  of  them  is  engaged  in  but  one  study ;  the  rest  is 
given  up  to  rest  or  indolence.  Thus  Benjamin  studied  law  dili- 
gently, but  nothing  else.  Humphrey,  for  his  part,  read  his  Galen 
and  his  Celsus,  but  he  neglected  not  the  cultivation  of  those  arts 
and  accomplishments  in  which  Mr.  Boscorel  was  as  ready  a 
teacher  as  he  was  a  ready  scholar.  He  thus  learned  the  history 
of  painting  and  sculpture  and  architecture,  and  that  of  coins  and 
medals,  so  that  at  eighteen  Humphrey  might  already  have  set  up 
as  a  virtuoso. 

Nor  was  this  all.  Still,  by  the  help  of  the  rector,  he  learned 
the  use  of  the  pencil  and  the  brush,  and  could  both  draw  pret- 
tily and  paint  in  water-colors,  whether  the  cottages  or  the  church, 
the  cows  in  the  fields,  or  the  woods  and  hills.  I  have  many  pict- 
ures of  his  painting  which  he  gave  me  from  time  to  time.  And 
he  could  play  sweetly,  whether  on  the  spinnet,  or  the  violin,  or 
the  guitar,  spending  many  hours  every  week  with  Mr.  Boscorel 
playing  duettos  together ;  and  willingly  he  would  sing,  having  a 
rich  and  full  voice  very  delightful  to  hear.  When  I  grew  a  great 
girl,  and  had  advanced  far  enough,  I  was  permitted  to  play  with 
them.  There  was  no  end  to  the  music  which  Mr.  Boscorel  pos- 
sessed. First,  he  had  a  great  store  of  English  ditties  such  as 
country-people  love — as,  "  Sing  all  a  green  willow,"  "  Gather  ye 
rosebuds  while  ye  may,"  or  "  Once  I  loved  a  maiden  fair." 
There  was  nothing  rough  or  rude  in  these  songs,  though  I  am 
informed  that  much  wickedness  is  taught  by  the  ribald  songs 
that  are  sung  in  playhouses  and  coffee-rooms.  And  when  we 
were  not  playing  or  singing,  Mr.  Boscorel  would  read  us  poetry 
— portions  from  Shakespeare  or  Ben  Jonson,  or  out  of  Milton's 
"  Paradise  Lost ;"  or  from  Herrick,  who  is  surely  the  sweetest 
poet  that  ever  lived,  "  yet  marred,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "  by  much 
coarseness  and  corruption."  Now,  one  day,  after  we  had  been 
thus  reading — one  winter  afternoon,  when  the  sun  lay  upon  the 
meadows — Humphrey  walked  home  with  me,  and  on  the  way 
confessed,  with  many  blushes,  that  he,  too,  had  been  writing 
verses.     And  with  that  he  lugged  a  paper  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  They  are  for  thine  own  eyes  only,  Grace.  Truly,  my  dear, 
thou  hast  the  finest  eyes  in  the  world.     They  are  for  no  other 


48  -  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

eyes  than  thine,"  he  repeated.  "  Not  for  Robin,  mind,  lest  he 
Laugh ;  poetry  hath  in  it  something  sacred,  so  that  even  the 
writer  of  bad  verses  cannot  bear  to  have  them  laughed  at. 
When  thou  art  a  year  or  two  older  thou  wilt  understand  that 
they  were  written  for  thy  heart  as  well  as  for  thine  eyes.  Yet, 
if  thou  like  the  verses,  they  may  be  seen  by  Mr.  Boscorel,  but  in 
private ;  and  if  he  laugh  at  them  do  not  tell  me.  Yet,  again, 
one  would  like  to  know  what  he  said  ;  wherefore,  tell  me,  though 
his  words  be  like  a  knife  in  my  side." 

Thus  he  wavered  between  wishing  to  show  them  to  his  master 
in  art,  and  fearing. 

In  the  end,  when  I  showed  them  to  Mr.  Boscorel,  he  said  that, 
for  a  beginner,  they  were  very  well — very  well,  indeed ;  that  the 
rhymes  were  correct,  and  the  metre  true  ;  that  years  and  practice 
would  give  greater  firmness,  and  that  the  crafty  interlacing  of 
thought  and  passion,  which  was  the  characteristic  of  Italian 
verse,  could  only  be  learned  by  much  reading  of  the  Italian  poets. 
More  he  said,  speaking  upon  the  slight  subject  of  rhyme  and 
poetry  with  as  much  seriousness  and  earnestness  as  if  he  wero 
weighing  and  comparing  texts  of  Scripture. 

Then  he  gave  me  back  the  verses  with  a  sigh. 

"  Child,"  he  said.  "  To  none  of  us  is  given  what  most  we  de- 
sire. For  my  part,  I  longed  in  his  infancy  that  my  son  should 
grow  up  even  as  Humphrey,  as  quick  to  learn ;  with  as  true  a 
taste ;  with  as  correct  an  ear ;  with  a  hand  so  skilful.  But — 
you  see,  I  complain  not,  though  Benjamin  loves  the  noisy  tavern 
better  than  the  quiet  coffee-house  where  the  Avits  resort.  To  him 
such  things  as  verses,  art,  and  music  are  foolishness.  I  say  that 
I  complain  not ;  but  I  would  to  Heaven  that  Humphrey  were  my 
own,  and  that  his  shoulders  were  straight,  poor  lad  !  Thy  father 
hath  made  him  a  Puritan  ;  he  is  such  as  John  Milton  in  his 
youth — and  as  beautiful  in  face  as  that  stout  Republican.  I 
doubt  not  that  we  shall  have  from  the  hand  of  Humphrey,  if  he 
live  and  prosper,  something  fine,  the  nature  of  which,  whether  it 
is  to  be  in  painting,  or  in  music,  or  in  poetry,  I  know  not.  Take 
the  verses,  and  take  care  that  thou  lose  them  not ;  and,  child — 
remember — the  poet  is  allowed  to  say  what  he  pleases  about  a 
woman's  eyes.  Be  not  deceived  into  thinking —  But  no — no 
— there  is  no  fear.     Good-night,  thou  sweet  and  innocent  saint." 

I  knew  not  then  what  he  meant,  but  these  are  the  verses ;  and 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  49 

I  truly  think  tliat  they  are  very  moving  and  religious.  For  if 
woman  be  truly  the  most  beautiful  work  of  the  Creator  (which 
all  men  aver),  then  it  behooves  her  all  the  more  still  to  point  up- 
ward. I  read  them  with  a  pleasure  and  surprise  that  filled  my 
whole  soul,  and  inflamed  my  heart  with  pious  joy  : 

"Around,  above,  and  everywhere 

The  earth  hath  many  a  lovely  thing; 
The  zephyrs  soft,  the  flowers  fair. 
The  babbling  brook,  the  bubbling  spring. 

"  The  gray  of  dawn,  the  azure  sky, 
The  sunset  glow,  the  evening  gloom ; 
The  warbling  thrush,  the  skylark  high, 
The  blossoming  hedge,  the  garden's  bloom. 

"  The  sun  in  state,  the  moon  in  pride, 
The  twinkling  stars  in  order  laid ; 
The  winds  that  ever  race  and  ride, 
Tiie  shadows  flying  o'er  the  glade, 

"  Oh !    many  a  lovely  thing  hath  earth. 
To  charm  the  eye  and  witch  the  soul ; 
Yet  one  there  is  of  passing  worth — 
For  that  one  thing  I  give  the  whole. 

"  The  crowning  work,  the  last  thing  made, 
Creation's  masterpiece  to  be — 
Bond  o'er  yon  stream,  and  there  displayed, 
This  wondrous  thing  reflected  see. 

"  Behold  a  face  for  heaven  designed ; 
See  how  those  eyes  thy  soul  betraj' — 
Love — secret  love — there  sits  enshrined  ; 
And  upward  still  doth  point  the  way." 

When  Humphrey  went  away,  he  did  not,  like  Benjamin, 
come  blustering  and  declaring  that  he  would  marry  me,  and  that 
he  would  break  the  skull  of  any  other  man  who  dared  make 
love  to  me — not  at  all ;  Humphrey,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  told 
me  that  he  was  sorry  I  could  not  go  to  Oxford  as  well ;  that  he 
was  going  to  lose  the  sweetest  companion ;  and  that  he  should 
always  love  me  :  and  then  he  kissed  me  on  the  forehead,  and  so 
departed.  Why  should  he  not  always  love  me  ?  I  knew  very 
well  that  he  loved  me,  and  that  I  loved  him.  Although  he  was 
so  young,  being  only  seventeen  when  he  was  entered  at  Exeter 
College,  I  suppose  there  never  was  a  young  gentleman  went  to 
the  University  of  Oxford  with  so  many  accomplishments  and  so 
3  D 


50  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

much  learning.  By  my  father's  testimony  he  read  Greek  as  if 
it  were  his  mother  tongue,  and  he  wrote  and  conversed  easily  in 
Latin ;  and  you  have  heard  what  arts  and  accomplishments  he 
added  to  this  solid  learning.  He  was  elected  to  a  scholarship  at 
his  college,  that  of  Exeter,  and,  after  he  took  his  degree  as  bach- 
elor of  medicine,  he  was  made  a  fellow  of  All-Souls,  where  Mr. 
Boscorel  himself  had  also  been  a  fellow.  This  election  was  not 
only  a  great  distinction  for  him,  but  it  gave  him  what  a  learned 
young  man  especially  desires — the  means  of  living  and  of  pursu- 
ing his  studies. 

While  he  was  at  Oxford  he  wrote  letters  to  Sir  Christopher,  to 
Mr.  Boscorel,  and  to  my  father  (to  whom  also  he  sent  such  new 
books  and  pamphlets  as  he  thought  would  interest  him).  To 
me  he  sent  sometimes  drawings  and  sometimes  books,  but  never 
verses. 

Now  (to  make  an  end  of  Humphrey  for  the  present),  when  he 
had  obtained  his  fellowship,  he  asked  for  and  obtained  leave  of 
absence  and  permission  to  study  medicine  in  those  great  schools 
which  far  surpass,  they  say,  our  English  schools  of  medicine. 
These  are  that  of  Montpellier ;  the  yet  more  famous  school  of 
Padua,  in  Italy ;  and  that  of  Leyden,  whither  many  Englishmen 
resort  for  study,  notably  Mr.  Evelyn,  whose  book  called  "  Sylva  " 
was  in  the  rector's  library. 

He  carried  on  during  the  whole  of  this  time  a  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Boscorel  on  the  paintings,  statues,  and  architecture  to 
be  seen  wherever  his  travels  carried  him.  These  letters  Mr.  Bos- 
corel read  aloud,  with  a  map  spread  before  him,  discoursing  on 
the  history  of  the  place  and  the  chief  things  to  be  seen  there, 
before  he  began  to  read.  Surely  there  never  was  a  man  so 
much  taken  up  with  the  fine  arts,  especially  as  they  were  prac- 
tised by  the  ancients. 

There  remains  the  last  of  the  boys — Robin,  vSir  Christopher's 
grandson  and  heir.  I  should  like  this  book  to  be  all  about 
Robin — yet  one  must  needs  speak  of  the  others.  I  declare  that 
from  the  beginning  there  never  was  a  boy  more  happy,  more 
jolly  ;  never  any  one  more  willing  to  be  always  making  some 
one  happy.  He  loved  the  open  air,  the  wild  creatures,  the  trees, 
the  birds,  everything  that  lives  beneath  the  sky  ;  yet  not  like  my 
poor  brother  Barnaby — a  hater  of  books.  He  read  all  the  books 
which  told  about  creatures,  or  hunting,  or  country  life ;  and  all 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM,  51 

voyages  and  travels.  A  fresh-colored,  wholesome  lad,  not  so 
grave  as  Humphrey  nor  so  moody  as  Benjamin,  who  always 
seemed  to  carry  with  him  the  scent  of  woods  and  fields.  He 
was  to  Sir  Christopher  what  Benjamin  was  to  Jacoh.  Even  my 
father  loved  him  though  he  was  so  poor  a  scholar. 

Those  who  stayed  at  home  have  homely  wits — therefore  Robin 
must  follow  Humphrey  to  Oxford.  He  went  thither  the  year 
after  his  cousin.  I  never  learned  that  he  obtained  a  scholarship, 
or  that  he  was  considered  one  of  the  younger  pillars  of  that  learned 
and  ancient  university ;  or,  indeed,  that  he  took  a  degree  at  all. 

After  he  left  Oxford  he  must  go  to  London,  there  to  study 
justice's  law  and  fit  himself  for  the  duties  he  would  have  to 
fulfil.  Also  his  grandfather  would  have  him  acquire  some 
knowledge  of  the  court  and  the  city,  and  the  ways  of  the  great 
and  the  rich.  This,  too,  he  did ;  though  he  never  learned  to 
prefer  those  ways  to  the  simple  customs  and  habits  of  his  Som- 
erset village. 

He,  too,  like  the  other  two,  bade  me  a  tender  farewell. 

"  Poor  Grace  1"  he  said,  taking  both  my  hands  in  his.  "  "What 
wilt  thou  do  when  I  am  gone  V 

Indeed,  since  Humphrey  went  away,  we  had  been  daily  com- 
panions ;  and  at  the  thought  of  being  thus  left  alone  the  tears 
were  running  down  my  cheeks. 

"  Why,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  to  think  that  I  should  ever 
make  thee  cry — I  who  desire  nothing  but  to  make  thee  always 
laugh  and  be  happy  !  What  wilt  thou  do  ?  Go  often  to  my 
mother.  She  loves  thee  as  if  her  own  daughter.  Go  and  talk 
to  her  concerning  me.  It  pleaseth  the  poor  soul  to  be  still  talk- 
ing of  her  son.  And  forget  not  my  grandfather.  Play  back- 
gammon with  him  ;  fill  his  pipe  for  him  ;  sing  to  the  spinnet  for 
him ;  talk  to  him  about  Humphrey  and  me.  And  forget  not 
Mr.  Boscorel,  my  uncle.  The  poor  man  looks  as  melancholy 
since  Humphrey  Avent  av/ay  as  a  turtle  robbed  of  her  nest.  I 
saw  him  yesterday  opening  one  of  his  drawers  full  of  medals, 
and  he  sighed  over  them  fit  to  break  his  heart.  He  sighed  for 
Humphrey,  not  for  Ben.  Well,  child,  what  more  ?  Take 
Lance  " — 'twas  his  dog — "  for  a  run  every  day ;  make  George 
Sparrow  keep  an  eye  upon  the  stream  for  otters  ;  and^there  are 
a  thousand  things,  but  I  will  write  them  down.  Have  patience 
with  the  dear  old  man  when  he  will  be  still  talking  about  me." 


52  FOR    FAITH   AND    FREEDOM. 

"  Patience,  Robin,"  I  said.  "  Why,  we  all  love  to  talk  about 
thee." 

"  Do  you  all  love  to  talk  about  me  ?  Dost  thou,  too,  Grace  ? 
Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear !"  Here  he  took  me  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  me  on  the  lips.  "  Dost  thou  also  love  to  talk  about  me  ? 
Why,  my  dear,  I  shall  think  of  nothing  but  of  thee.  Because — 
oh  !  my  dear — mj^  dear !  I  love  thee  with  all  my  heart." 

Well,  I  was  still  so  foolish  that  I  understood  nothing  more 
than  that  we  all  loved  him,  and  he  loved  us  all. 

"Grace,  I  will  write  letters  to  thee.  I  will  put  them  in  the 
packet  for  my  mother.  Thus  thou  wilt  understand  that  I  am 
always  thinking  of  thee." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  But  the  letters  were  so  full  of 
the  things  he  was  doing  and  seeing  that  it  was  quite  clear  that 
his  mind  had  plenty  of  room  for  more  than  one  object.  To  be 
sure,  I  should  have  been  foolish,  indeed,  had  I  desired  that  his 
letters  should  tell  me  that  he  was  always  thinking  about  me, 
when  he  should  have  been  attending  to  his  business. 

After  a  year  in  London  his  grandfather  thought  that  he  should 
travel.  Therefore,  he  went  abroad  and  joined  Humphrey  at 
Montpellier,  and  with  him  rode  northward  to  Leyden,  where  he 
sojourned  while  his  cousin  attended  the  lectures  of  that  famous 
school. 


CHAPTER  VHI. 

A     ROYAL     PROGRESS. 


When  all  the  boys  were  gone  the  time  was  quiet,  indeed,  for 
those  who  were  left  behind.  My  mother's  wheel  went  spinning 
still,  but  I  think  that  some  kindness  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Boscorel 
as  well  as  Sir  Christopher  caused  her  weekly  tale  of  yarn  to  be 
of  less  importance.  And  as  for  me,  not  only  would  she  never 
suffer  me  to  sit  at  the  spinning-wheel,  but  there  was  so  much 
request  of  me  (to  replace  the  boys)  that  I  was  nearly  all  the 
day  either  Avith  Sir  Christopher,  or  with  madame,  or  with  Mr. 
Boscorel. 

Up  to  the  year  1680,  or  thereabouts,  I  paid  no  more  attention 
to  political  matters  than  any  young  woman  with  no  knowledge 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  53 

may  be  supposed  to  give.  Yet,  of  course,  I  was  on  the  side  of 
liberty,  both  civil  and  religious.  How  should  that  be  otherwise, 
my  father  being  such  as  he  was,  muzzled  for  all  these  years,  the 
work  of  his  life  prevented  and  destroyed  ? 

It  was  in  that  year,  however,  that  I  became  a  most  zealous 
partisan  and  lover  of  the  Protestant  cause  in  the  way  that  I  am 
about  to  relate. 

Everybody  knows  that  there  is  no  part  of  Great  Britain  (not 
even  Scotland)  where  the  Protestant  religion  hath  supporters 
more  stout  and  stanch  than  Somerset  and  Devonshire.  I  hope 
I  shall  not  be  accused  of  disloyalty  to  Queen  Anne,  under  whom 
we  flourish  and  are  happy,  when  I  say  that  in  the  West  of  Eng- 
land we  had  grown — I  know  not  how — to  regard  the  late  mis- 
guided Duke  of  Monmouth  as  the  champion  of  the  Protestant 
faith.  When,  therefore,  the  duke  came  into  the  West  of  Eng- 
land in  the  year  1680,  five  years  before  the  Rebellion,  he  was 
everywhere  received  with  acclamations  and  by  crowds  who  gath- 
ered round  him  to  witness  their  loyalty  to  the  Protestant  faith. 
They  came  also  to  look  upon  the  gallant  commander  who  had 
defeated  the  French  and  the  Dutch,  and  was  said  (but  errone- 
ously) to  be  as  wise  as  he  was  brave,  and  as  religious  as  lie  was 
beautiful  to  look  upon.  As  for  his  wisdom,  those  who  knew 
him  best  have  since  assured  the  world  that  he  had  little  or  none, 
his  judgment  being  always  swayed  and  determined  for  him  by 
crafty  and  subtle  persons  seeking  their  own  interests.  And  as 
for  his  religion,  whatever  may  have  been  his  profession,  good 
works  were  wanting — as  is  now  very  well  known.  But  at  that 
time,  and  among  our  people,  the  wicked  ways  of  courts  were 
only  half  understood.  And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  whether 
he  was  wise  or  religious,  the  show  of  affection  with  which  the 
duke  was  received  upon  this  journey  turned  his  head,  and  caused 
him  to  think  that  these  people  would  rally  round  him  if  he  called 
upon  them.  And  I  suppose  that  there  is  nothing  which  more 
delights  a  prince  than  to  believe  that  his  friends  are  ready  even 
to  lay  down  their  lives  in  his  behalf. 

At  that  time  the  country  was  greatly  agitated  by  anxiety  con- 
cerning the  succession.  Those  who  were  nearest  the  throne 
knew  that  King  Charles  was  secretly  a  papist.  We  in  the  coun- 
try had  not  learned  that  dismal  circumstance :  yet  we  knew  the 
religion  of  the  Duke  of  York.     Thousands  there  were,  like  Sir 


54  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM, 

Christopher  himself,  wlio  now  lamented  the  return  of  the  king, 
considering  the  disgraces  which  had  fallen  npon  the  country. 
But  what  was  done  could  not  be  undone.  They,  therefore, 
asked  themselves  if  the  nation  would  suffer  an  avowed  papist 
to  ascend  a  Protestant  throne.  If  not,  what  should  be  done  ? 
And  here,  as  everybody  knows,  was  opinion  divided.  For  some 
declared  that  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  had  he  his  rights,  was  the 
lawful  heir ;  and  others  maintained  in  the  king's  own  word  that 
he  was  never  married  to  Mistress  Lucy  Waters.  Therefore  they 
would  have  the  Duke  of  York's  daughter,  a  Protestant  princess, 
married  to  William  of  Orange,  proclaimed  queen.  The  Mon- 
mouth party  were  strong,  however,  and  it  was  even  said — Mr. 
Henry  Clark,  minister  of  Crewkern,  wrote  a  pamphlet  to  prove 
it — that  a  poor  woman,  Elizabeth  Parcet  by  name,  touched  the 
duke  (he  being  ignorant  of  the  thing)  for  king's  evil,  and  was 
straightway  healed.  Sir  Christopher  laughed  at  the  story,  say- 
ing that  the  king  himself,  whether  he  was  descended  from  a 
Scottish  Stuai't  or  from  King  Solomon  himself,  could  no  more 
cure  that  dreadful  disease  than  the  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son 
(as  some  foolish  people  believe),  or  the  rubbing  of  the  part  af- 
fected by  the  hand  of  a  man  that  had  been  hanged  (as  others  do 
foolishly  believe),  which  is  the  reason  Avhy  on  the  gibbets  the 
hanging  corpses  are  always  handless. 

It  was  noised  abroad  beforehand  that  the  duke  was  going  to 
ride  through  the  West  Country  in  order  to  visit  his  friends.  The 
progress  (it  was  more  like  a  royal  progress  than  the  journey  of 
a  private  nobleman)  began  with  his  visit  to  Mr.  Thomas  Thynne, 
of  Longleat  House.  It  is  said  that  his  chief  reason  for  going 
to  that  house  was  to  connect  himself  with  the  obligation  of  the 
tenant  of  Longleat  to  give  the  king  and  his  suite  a  night's  lodg- 
ing when  they  visited  that  part  of  the  country.  Mr.  Thynne, 
who  entertained  the  duke  on  this  occasion,  was  the  same  who 
was  afterwards  murdered  in  London  by  Count  Konigsmark. 
They  called  him  "  Tom  of  Ten  Thousand."  The  poet  Dryden 
hath  written  of  this  progress  in  that  poem  wherein,  under  the 
fabled  name  of  Absalom,  he  figures  the  duke : 

"  He  now  begins  liis  progress  to  ordain, 
With  chariots,  horsemen,  and  a  numerous  train. 
Fame  runs  before  liim  as  the  morning  star, 
And  shouts  of  joy  salute  him  from  afar. 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  55 

Each  house  receives  him  as  n.  guardian  god, 
And  consecrates  the  place  of  his  abode." 

It  was  for  bis  liospitablc  treatment  of  the  duke  tliat  ]\Ir.  Thynne 
was  immediately  afterwards  deprived  of  the  command  of  the 
Wiltshire  militia. 

"  Son-in-law,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  I  would  ride  out  to 
meet  the  duke  in  respect  to  his  Protestant  professions.  As  for 
any  pretensions  he  may  have  to  the  succession,  I  know  nothing 
of  them." 

"  I  will  ride  with  you,  sir,"  said  the  rector,  "  to  meet  the  son 
of  the  king.  And  as  for  any  Protestant  professions,  I  know 
nothing  of  them.  His  grace  remains,  I  believe,  within  the  pale 
of  the  Church  as  by  law  established.  Let  us  all  ride  out  to- 
gether." 

Seeing  that  my  father  also  rode  with  them,  it  is  certain  that 
there  were  many  and  diverse  reasons  why  so  many  thousands 
gathered  together  to  welcome  the  duke.  Madame,  AVilTs  moth- 
er, out  of  her  kind  heart,  invited  me  to  accompany  her,  and  gave 
me  a  white  frock  to  wear  and  blue  ribbons  to  put  into  it. 

We  made,  with  our  servants,  a  large  party.  We  were  also 
joined  by  many  of  the  tenants,  with  their  sons  and  wives,  so 
that  when  we  came  to  Ilchester,  Sir  Christopher  Avas  riding  at 
the  head  of  a  great  company  of  sixty  or  more,  and  very  fine 
they  looked,  all  provided  with  blue  favors  in  honor  of  the  duke. 

From  Bradford  Orcas  to  Ilchester  is  but  six  miles  as  the  crow 
flies,  but  the  ways  (which  are  narrow  and  foul  in  winter)  do  so 
wind  and  turn  about  that  they  add  two  miles  at  least  to  the 
distance.  Fortunately  the  season  was  summer — namely,  Au- 
gust— when  the  sun  is  hottest  and  the  earth  is  dry  so  that  no 
one  was  bogged  on  the  way. 

We  started  betimes — namely,  at  six  in  the  morning — because 
we  knew  not  for  certain  at  what  time  the  duke  would  arrive  at 
Ilchester.  When  we  came  forth  from  the  manor-house  the 
farmers  were  already  waiting  for  us,  and  so,  after  greetings  from 
his  honor,  they  fell  in  and  followed.  We  first  took  the  narrow 
and  rough  lane  which  leads  to  the  high-road ;  but,  when  we 
reached  it,  we  found  it  full  of  people  riding,  like  ourselves,  or 
trudging,  staff  in  hand,  all  in  the  same  direction.  They  were 
going  to  gaze  upon  the  Protestant  duke,  who,  if  he  had  his 
way,  would  restore  freedom  of  conscience  and  abolish  the  acts 


56  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

against  the  Nonconformists.  We  rode  tlirongli  Marston  Magna, 
but  only  tlie  old  people  and  the  little  children  Avere  left  there ; 
in  the  fields  the  ripe  corn  stood  waiting  to  be  cut ;  in  the  farm- 
yards the  beasts  were  standing  idle ;  all  the  hinds  were  gone 
to  Ilchester  to  see  the  duke.  And  I  began  to  fear  lest  when 
we  got  to  Ilchester  we  should  be  too  late.  At  Marston  we  left 
the  main  road  and  entered  upon  a  road  (call  it  a  track  rather 
than  a  road)  across  the  country,  which  is  here  flat  and  open. 
In  winter  it  is  miry  and  boggy,  but  it  was  now  dry  and  hard. 
This  path  brought  us  again  to  the  main  road  in  two  miles,  or 
thereabouts,  and  here  we  were  but  a  mile  or  so  from  Ilchester. 
Now,  such  a  glorious  sight  as  awaited  us  here  I  never  expected 
to  see.  Once  again,  after  five  years,  I  was  to  see  a  welcome 
still  more  splendid ;  but  nothing  can  ever  efface  from  my  mem- 
ory that  day.  For  first,  the  roads,  as  I  have  said,  were  thronged 
with  rustics,  and  next,  when  we  rode  into  the  town  we  found 
it  filled  with  gentlemen  most  richly  dressed,  and  ladies  so  beau- 
tiful and  with  such  splendid  attire  that  it  dazzled  my  eyes  to 
look  upon  them.  It  was  a  grand  thing  to  see  the  gentlemen 
take  off  their  hats  and  cry,  "  Huzza  for  brave  Sir  Christopher !" 
Everybody  knew  his  opinions  and  on  what  side  he  had  fought 
in  the  Civil  War.  The  old  man  bent  his  head,  and  I  think  that 
he  was  pleased  with  this  mark  of  honor. 

The  town  which,  though  ancient,  is  now  decayed  and  hath 
but  few  good  houses  in  it,  was  now  made  glorious  with  bright- 
colored  cloths,  carpets,  flags,  and  ribbons.  There  were  bands 
of  music ;  the  bells  of  the  church  were  ringing ;  the  main  street 
was  like  a  fair  with  booths  and  stalls,  and  in  the  market-place 
there  were  benches  set  up  with  white  canvas  covering,  where 
sat  ladies  in  their  fine  dresses,  some  of  them  with  naked  shoul- 
ders, unseemly  to  behold.  Yet  it  was  pretty  to  see  the  long 
curls  lying  on  their  Avhite  shoulders.  Some  of  them  sat  with 
half-closed  eyes,  which,  I  have  since  learned,  is  a  fashion  of  the 
court.  Mostly,  they  wore  satin  petticoats,  and  demi-gowns  also 
of  satin,  furnished  with  a  long  train.  Our  place  was  beside  the 
old  cross  with  its  gilt  ball  and  vane.  The  people  who  filled 
the  streets  came  from  Sherborne,  from  Bruton,  from  Shepton, 
from  Glastonbury,  from  Langport,  and  from  Somerton,  and  from 
all  the  villages  round.  It  was  computed  that  there  were  twenty 
thousand  of  them.     Two  thousand  at  least  rode  out  to  meet 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  57 

tlie  duke,  and  followed  after  liim  wlieii  lie  rode  through  the 
town.  And,  oh  !  the  shouting  as  he  drew  near,  the  clashing  of 
bells,  the  beating  of  the  drums,  the  blowing  of  the  horns,  the 
firing  of  the  guns,  as  if  the  more  noise  they  made  the  greater 
would  be  the  duke. 

Since  that  day  I  have  not  wondered  at  the  power  which  a 
prince  hath  of  drawing  men  after  him,  even  to  the  death.  Never 
was  heir  to  the  crown  received  with  such  joy  and  welcome  as 
was  this  young  man,  who  had  no  title  to  the  crown,  and  was 
base-born.  Yet,  because  he  was  a  brave  young  man,  and  comely 
above  all  other  young  men,  gracious  of  speech,  and  ready  with 
a  laugh  and  a  joke,  and  because  he  was  the  son  of  the  king,  and 
the  reputed  champion  of  the  Protestant  faith,  the  people  could 
not  shout  too  loud  for  him. 

The  duke  was  at  this  time  in  the  prime  of  manhood,  being 
thirty-five  years  of  age.  "  At  that  age,"  Mr.  Boscorel  used  to 
say,  "  one  would  desire  to  remain  if  the  body  of  clay  were  im- 
mortal. For  then  the  volatile  humors  of  youth  have  been  dis- 
sipated. The  time  of  follies  has  passed ;  love  is  regarded  with 
the  sober  eyes  of  experience ;  knowledge  has  been  acquired ; 
skill  of  eye  and  hand  has  been  gained,  if  one  is  so  happy  as  to 
be  a  follower  of  art  and  music ;  wisdom  hath  been  reached,  if 
wisdom  is  ever  to  be  attained.  But  wisdom,"  he  would  add, 
"  is  a  quality  generally  lacking  at  every  period  of  life." 

"  When  last  I  saw  the  duke,"  he  told  us  while  we  waited, 
"  was  fifteen  years  ago,  in  St.  James's  Park.  He  was  walking 
with  the  king,  his  father,  who  had  his  arm  about  his  son's 
shoulders,  and  regarded  him  fondly.  At  that  time  he  was,  in- 
deed, a  very  David  for  beauty.  I  suppose  that  he  hath  not  kept 
that  singular  loveliness  which  made  him  the  darling  of  the  court. 
That,  indeed,  were  not  a  thing  to  be  desired  or  expected.  He 
is  now  the  hero  of  Maestricht,  and  the  Chancellor  of  Cambridge 
University." 

And  then  all  hats  were  pulled  off,  and  the  ladies  waved  their 
handkerchiefs,  and  the  men  shouted,  and  you  would  have  thought 
the  bells  would  have  pulled  the  old  tow-er  down  with  the  vehe- 
mence of  their  ringing ;  for  the  duke  was  riding  into  the  town. 

He  was  no  longer  a  beautiful  boy,  but  a  man  at  whose  aspect 
every  heart  was  softened.     His  enemies,  in  his  presence,  could 
not  blame  him  ;  his  friends,  at  sight  of  him,  could  not  praise 
3* 


58  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

him,  of  such  singular  beauty  was  he  possessed.  Softness,  gen- 
tleness, kindness,  and  good  will  reigned  in  his  large  soft  eyes ; 
graciousness  sat  upon  his  lips,  and  all  his  face  seemed  to  smile 
as  he  rode  slov.'ly  between  the  lane  formed  by  the  crowd  on 
either  hand. 

What  said  the  poet  Dryden  in  that  same  poem  of  his  from 
which  I  have  already  quoted  ? — 

"Early  in  foreign  fields  lie  won  renown 
With  Kings  and  Slates  allied  to  Israel's  crown ; 
In  peace  the  thoughts  of  war  he  could  remove, 
And  seemed  as  he  were  onl}'  born  for  love. 
Whate'er  he  did  was  done  with  so  much  ease, 
In  him  alone  'twas  natural  to  please; 
His  motions  all  accompanied  with  grace, 
And  Paradise  was  opened  in  his  face." 

Now  I  have  to  tell  of  what  happened  to  me — of  all  people  in 
the  world,  to  me — the  most  insignificant  person  in  the  whole 
crowd.  It  chanced  that  as  the  duke  came  near  the  spot  beside 
the  cross  where  we  were  standing,  the  press  in  front  obliged 
him  to  stop.  He  looked  about  him  while  he  waited,  smiling 
still  and  bowing  to  the  people.  Presently  his  eyes  fell  upon 
me,  and  he  whispered  a  gentleman  who  rode  beside  him,  yet  a 
little  in  the  rear.  This  gentleman  laughed,  and  dismounted. 
What  was  my  confusion  when  he  advanced  towards  me  and 
spoke  to  me  ! 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  calling  me  "  madame  !"  "  His  grace 
would  say  one  word  to  you,  Avith  permission  of  your  friends." 

"  Go  with  this  gentleman,  child,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  laugh- 
ing. Everybody  laughs — I  know  not  why — when  a  girl  is  led 
out  to  be  kissed. 

"Fair  white  rose  of  Somerset,"  said  his  grace — 'twas  the  most 
musical  voice  in  the  world,  and  the  softest.  "  Fair  white  rose  " — 
he  repeated  the  words — "  let  me  be  assured  of  the  welcome  of 
Ilchester  by  a  kiss  from  your  sweet  lips,  which  I  will  return  in 
token  of  my  gratitude." 

All  the  people  who  heard  these  words  shouted  as  if  they 
would  burst  themselves  asunder.  And  the  gentleman  who  had 
led  me  forth  lifted  me  so  that  my  foot  rested  on  the  duke's 
boot,  while  his  grace  laid  his  arm  tenderly  round  my  waist  and 
kissed  me  twice. 


" '  Fair  white  rose  of  Somerset,  let  me  be  assured  of  the  welcome  of  Ilchesier  by 
a  kiss  from  your  sweet  lips,  which  I  will  return  in  token  of  my  gratitude.'" 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  59 

"  Sweet  cliilcl,"  he  said,  "  what  is  thy  name  ?" 

"  By  your  grace's  leave,"  I  said,  the  words  being  A^ery  strange, 
•'  I  am  the  daughter  of  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin,  an  ejected  minister. 
I  have  come  with  Sir  Christopher  Challis,  who  stands  yonder." 

"Sir  Christopher!"  said  the  duke,  as  if  surprised.  "Let  me 
shake  hands  with  Sir  Christopher.  I  take  it  kindly.  Sir  Chris- 
topher, that  you  have  so  far  honored  me."  So  he  gave  the  old 
man,  who  stepped  forward  bareheaded,  his  hand,  still  holding 
me  by  the  v,  aist.  "  I  pray  that  we  may  meet  again.  Sir  Chris- 
topher, and  that  before  long."  Then  he  drew  a  gold  ring,  set 
with  emeralds,  from  his  forefinger,  and  placed  it  upon  mine,  and 
kissed  me  again,  and  then  suffered  me  to  be  lifted  down.  And 
you  may  be  sure  that  it  was  with  red  cheeks  that  I  took  my 
place  among  my  friends.  Yet  Sir  Christopher  was  pleased  at 
the  notice  taken  of  him  by  the  duke,  and  my  father  was  not 
displeased  at  the  part  I  had  been  made  to  play. 

When  the  duke  had  ridden  through  the  town,  many  of  the 
people  followed  after,  as  far  as  White  Lackington,  which  is 
close  to  Ilminster.  So  many  were  they  that  they  took  down  a 
great  piece  of  the  park  paling  to  admit  them  all ;  and  there, 
under  a  Spanish  chestnut-tree,  the  duke  drank  to  the  health  of 
all  the  people. 

At  Ilminster,  whither  he  rode  a  few  days  later ;  at  Chard,  at 
Ford  Abbey,  at  Whyton,  and  at  Exeter — wherever  he  went,  he 
was  received  with  the  same  shouts  and  acclamations.  It  is  no 
wonder,  therefore,  that  he  should  believe,  a  few  years  later,  that 
those  people  would  follow  him  when  he  drew  the  sword  for  the 
Protestant  religion. 

One  thing  is  certain — that  in  the  west  of  England,  from  the 
progress  of  Monmouth  to  the  rebellion,  there  was  uneasiness, 
with  an  anxious  looking  forward  to  troubled  times.  The  peo- 
ple of  Taunton  kept  as  a  day  of  holiday  and  thanksgiving  the 
anniversary  of  the  raising  of  Charles's  siege.  When  the  mayor, 
in  1683,  tried  to  stop  the  celebration  they  nearly  stoned  him  to 
death.  After  this.  Sir  George  Jeffreys,  afterwards  Lord  Jeffreys, 
who  took  the  spring  circuit  in  1684,  was  called  upon  to  report 
on  the  loyalty  of  the  west  country.  He  reported  that  the  gen- 
try Avere  loyal  and  well  disposed.  But  he  knew  not  the  mind 
of  the  weavers  and  spinners  of  the  country. 

It  was  this  progress,  the  sight  of  the  duke's  sweet  face,  his 


60  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

flattery  of  me,  and  bis  soft  words,  and  tlie  ring  he  gave  me, 
which  made  me  from  that  moment  such  a  partisan  of  his  cause 
as  only  a  woman  can  be.  AVomen  cannot  fight,  but  they  can 
feel ;  and  they  cannot  only  ardently  desire,  but  they  can  de- 
spise and  contemn  those  who  think  otherwise.  I  cannot  say 
that  it  was  I  who  persuaded  our  boys  five  years  later  to  join  the 
duke ;  but  I  can  truly  say  that  I  did  and  said  all  that  a  woman 
can ;  that  I  rejoiced  when  they  did  so ;  and  that  I  should  never 
have  forgiven  Robin  had  he  joined  the  forces  of  the  papist  king. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WITH     THE     ELDERS. 


So  we  went  home  again,  all  well  pleased,  and  I  holding  the 
duke's  ring  tight,  I  promise  you.  It  was  a  most  beautiful  ring 
when  I  came  to  look  at  it ;  a  great  emerald  was  in  the  midst  of 
it,  with  little  pearls  and  emeralds  set  alternately  around  it.  Nev- 
er was  such  a  grand  gift  to  so  humble  a  person.  I  tied  it  to  a 
black  ribbon  and  put  it  in  the  box  which  held  my  clothes.  But 
sometimes  I  could  not  forbear  the  pleasure  of  wearing  it  round 
my  neck,  secretly ;  not  for  the  joy  of  possessing  the  ring  so 
much  as  for  remembering  the  lovely  face  and  the  gracious  words 
of  the  giver. 

At  that  time  I  was  in  my  sixteenth  year,  but  well  grown  for 
my  age.  Like  my  father,  I  am  above  the  conmion  stature  of 
women.  We  continued  for  more  than  four  years  longer  to  live 
without  the  company  of  the  boys,  which  caused  me  to  be  much 
in  the  society  of  my  elders,  and  as  much  at  the  manor-house 
and  the  rectory  as  at  home.  At  the  former  place  Sir  Christo- 
pher loved  to  have  me  with  him  all  day  long,  if  my  mother  would 
suffer  it ;  when  he  walked  in  his  garden  I  must  be  at  his  side. 
When  he  awoke  after  his  afternoon  sleep  he  liked  to  see  me  sit- 
ting ready  to  talk  to  him.  I  must  play  to  him  and  sing  to  him  ; 
or  I  must  bring  out  the  backgammon  board  ;  or  I  must  read  the 
last  letters  from  Robin  and  Humphrey.  Life  is  dull  for  an  old 
man  whose  friends  are  mostly  dead,  unless  he  have  the  company 
of  the  young.  So  David  in  his  old  age  took  to  himself  a  young 
wife,  Avhen,  instead,  he  should  have  comforted  his  heart  with  the 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  Gl 

play   and   jDrattle   of  his  grandchildren — of   whom,  I   suppose, 
there  must  have  been  many  families. 

Now,  as  I  was  so  much  with  his  honor,  I  had  much  talk  with 
him  upon  things  on  which  wise  and  ancient  men  do  not  often 
converse  with  girls,  and  I  was  often  present  when  he  discoursed 
with  my  father  or  with  his  son-in-law,  the  rector,  on  high  and 
serious  matters.  It  was  a  time  of  great  anxiety  and  uncertainty. 
There  were  great  pope  burnings  in  the  country  ;  and  when  some 
were  put  in  pillory  for  riot  at  these  bonfires  not  a  hand  was 
lifted  against  them.  They  had  one  at  Sherborne  on  November  1 7, 
the  anniversary  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  coronation  day,  instead  of 
November  6.  Boys  went  about  the  streets  asking  for  halfpence 
and  singing — 

"  Up  with  the  hulder, 

And  down  with  the  rope; 
Give  us  a  penny 

To  burn  the  old  pope." 

There  ^vere  riots  in  Taunton,  where  the  High-Church  party 
burned  the  pulpit  of  a  meeting-house ;  people  went  about  open- 
ly saying  that  the  Roundheads  would  soon  come  back  again. 
From  Robin  we  heard  of  the  popish  plots  and  the  flight  of  the 
Duke  of  York,  and  afterwards  of  Monmouth's  disgrace  and  ex- 
ile. At  all  the  market  towns  where  men  gathered  together  they 
talked  of  these  things,  and  many  whispered  together :  a  thing 
which  Sir  Christopher  loved  not,  because  it  spoke  of  conspira- 
cies and  secret  plots,  whereas  he  was  all  for  bold  declaration  of 
conscience. 

In  short,  it  was  an  anxious  time,  and  everybody  understood 
that  serious  things  would  happen  should  the  king  die.  There 
were  not  wanting,  besides,  omens  of  coming  ills — if  you  accept 
such  things  as  omens  or  warnings.  To  Taunton  (afterwards  the 
town  most  affected  by  the  Rebellion)  a  plain  warning  was  vouch- 
safed by  the  rumbling  and  thundering  and  shaking  of  the  earth 
itself,  so  that  dishes  were  knocked  down  and  cups  broken,  and 
plaster  shaken  off  the  walls  of  houses.  And  once  (this  did  I 
myself  see  with  my  own  eyes)  the  sun  rose  with  four  other  suns 
for  companions — a  most  terrifying  sight,  though  Mr.  Boscorel, 
who  spoke  learnedly  on  omens,  had  an  explanation  of  this  mira- 
cle, which  he  said  was  due  to  natural  causes  alone.  And  at  He 
Brewers  there  was  a  monstrous  birth  of  two  girls  with  but  one 


62  FOR    FAITH    AND    FRREDOM. 

body  from  the  breast  downwards ;  tbeir  names  were  Aquila  and 
Priscilla ;  but  I  believe  they  lived  but  a  short  time. 

I  needs  must  tell  of  Mr.  Boscorel  because  he  was  a  man  the 
like  of  whom  I  have  never  since  beheld.  I  believe  there  can  be 
few  men  such  as  he  was,  who  could  so  readily  exchange  the  world 
of  heat  and  ai'gument  for  the  calm  and  dispassionate  air  of  art 
and  music.  Even  religion  (if  I  may  venture  to  say  so)  seemed 
of  less  importance  to  him  than  art.  I  have  said  that  he  taught 
me  to  play  upon  the  spinnet.  Now  that  Humphrey  was  gone, 
he  desired  my  company  every  day,  in  order,  he  pretended,  that  I 
might  grow  perfect  in  my  performance,  but  in  reality  because  he 
was  lonely  at  the  rectory,  and  found  pleasure  in  my  company. 
We  played  together — he  upon  the  violoncello  and  I  upon  the 
spinnet — such  music  as  he  chose.  It  was  sometimes  grave  and 
solemn  music,  such  as  Lulli's  "  Miserere"  or  his  "  De  Profun- 
dis ;"  sometimes  it  was  some  part  of  a  Roman  Catholic  mass : 
then  was  my  soul  uplifted  and  wafted  heavenwards  by  the  chords, 
which  seemed  prayer  and  praise  fit  for  the  angels  to  harp  be- 
fore the  throne.  Sometimes  it  was  music  which  spoke  of  human 
passions,  when  I  would  be,  in  like  manner,  carried  out  of  myself. 
My  master  would  watch  not  only  my  execution,  commending  or 
correcting,  but  he  would  also  watch  the  effect  of  the  music  upon 
my  mind. 

"  We  are  ourselves,"  he  said,  "  like  unto  the  instruments  upon 
which  we  play.  For  as  one  kind  of  instrument,  as  the  drum, 
produces  but  one  note  ;  and  another,  as  the  cymbals,  but  a  clash- 
ing which  is  in  itself  discordant,  but  made  effective  in  a  band ; 
so  others  are,  like  the  most  delicate  and  sensitive  violins — those 
of  Cremona — capable  of  producing  the  finest  music  that  the  soul 
of  man  hath  ever  devised.  It  is  by  such  music,  child,  that  some 
of  us  mount  unto  heaven.  As  for  me,  indeed,  I  daily  feel  more 
and  more  that  music  leadeth  the  soul  upward,  and  that,  as  re- 
gards the  disputations  on  the  Word  of  God,  the  letter  indeed 
killeth,  but  the  spirit  which  music  helpeth  us  to  feel — the  spirit, 
I  say,  giveth  life."  He  sighed,  and  drew  his  bow  gently  across 
the  first  string  of  his  violoncello.  "  Tis  a  time  of  angry  argu- 
ment. The  Word  of  God  is  thrown  from  one  to  the  other  as  a 
pebble  is  shot  from  a  sling.  It  wearies  me.  In  this  room, 
among  these  books  of  music,  my  soul  finds  rest,  and  the  spirit- 
ual part  of  me  is  lifted  heavenwards.     Humphrey  and  you,  my 


"  We  pUiycd  togetJier — Tie  upon  the  violoncdlo  and  I  ujny/o  (he  spinet — sucJi 
music  as  he  chose." 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  63 

dear,  alone  can  comprehend  tliis  saying.  Thou  hast  a  mind  like 
his,  to  feel  and  understand  what  music  means.  Listen  !"  Here 
he  executed  a  piece  of  music  at  which  the  tears  rose  to  my  eyes. 
"  That  is  from  the  Romish  mass  which  we  are  taught  ignorantly 
to  despise.  My  child,  I  am,  indeed,  no  Catholic,  and  I  hold  that 
ours  is  the  purer  church ;  yet,  in  losing  the  mass  we  have  lost 
the  great  music  with  which  the  Catholics  sustain  their  souls. 
Some  of  our  anthems,  truly,  are  good ;  but  what  is  a  single  an- 
them, finished  in  ten  minutes,  compared  with  a  grand  mass  which 
lasts  three  hours  V 

Then  he  had  portfolios  filled  with  engravings,  which  he  would 
bring  forth  and  contemplate  with  a  kind  of  rapture,  discoursing 
upon  the  engraver's  art  and  its  difliculties,  so  that  I  should  not, 
as  is  the  case  with  ignorant  persons,  suppose  that  these  things 
were  produced  without  much  training  and  skill.  He  had  also 
boxes  full  of  coins,  medals,  and  transparent  gems  carved  most  del- 
icately with  heathen  gods  and  goddesses,  shepherds  and  swains, 
after  the  ancient  fashion,  unclothed  and  unashamed.  On  these 
things  he  would  gaze  with  admiration  which  he  tried  to  teach 
me,  but  could  not,  because  I  cannot  believe  that  we  may  without 
blame  look  upon  such  figures.  Nevertheless,  they  were  most 
beautiful,  the  hands  and  faces  and  the  very  hair  so  delicately 
and  exquisitely  carved  that  you  could  hardly  believe  it  possible. 
And  he  talked  solemnly  and  scholarly  of  these  gauds,  as  if 
they  were  things  which  peculiarly  deserved  the  attention  of  wise 
and  learned  men.  Nay,  he  would  be  even  lifted  out  of  himself 
in  considering  them. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  "  we  know  not,  and  we  cannot  even  guess, 
the  wonders  of  art  that  in  heaven  we  shall  learn  to  accomplish  " 
— as  if  carving  and  painting  were  the  occupation  of  angels  I — 
"  or  the  miracles  of  beauty  and  of  dexterity  that  we  shall  be  able 
to  design  and  execute.  Here,  the  hand  is  clumsy  and  the  brain 
is  dull ;  we  cannot  rise  above  ourselves ;  we  are  blind  to  the 
beauty  with  which  the  Lord  hath  filled  the  earth  for  the  solace 
of  human  creatures.  Nay ;  we  are  not  even  tender  with  the 
beauty  that  we  see  and  love.  We  suffer  maidens  sweet  as  the 
dreams  of  poets  to  waste  their  beauty  unpraised  and  unsung.  I 
am  old,  child,  or  I  would  praise  thee  in  immortal  verse.  Much 
I  fear  that  thou  wilt  grow  old  without  the  praise  of  sweet  num- 
bers.    Well ;  there  is  no  doubt  more  lasting  beauty  of  face  and 


64  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

figure  hereafter  to  joy  the  souls  of  the  elect.  And  thou  wilt 
make  his  happiness  for  one  man  on  earth.  Pray  Heaven,  sweet 
child,  that  he  look  also  to  thine  !" 

He  would  say  such  things  with  so  grand  an  air,  speaking  as  if 
his  words  should  command  respect,  and  with  so  kindly  an  eye 
and  a  soft  smile,  while  he  gently  stroked  the  side  of  his  nose, 
which  was  long,  that  I  was  always  carried  away  with  the  author- 
ity of  it,  and  not  till  after  I  left  him  did  1  begin  to  perceive  that 
my  father  would  certainly  never  allow  that  the  elect  should  oc- 
cupy themselves  with  the  frivolous  pursuits  of  painting  and  the 
fine  arts,  but  only  with  the  playing  of  their  harps  and  the  sing- 
ing of  praises.  It  was  this  consideration  which  caused  him  to 
consent  that  his  daughter  should  learn  the  spinnet.  I  did  not 
tell  him  (God  forgive  me  for  the  deceit,  if  there  was  any  !)  that 
we  sometimes  played  music  written  for  the  mass ;  nor  did  I  re- 
peat what  Mr.  Boscorel  said  concerning  art  and  the  flinging  about 
of  the  Word  of  God,  because  my  father  was  wholly  occupied  in 
controversy,  and  his  principal,  if  not  his  only,  weapon  was  the 
Word  of  God. 

Another  pleasure  which  we  had  was  to  follow  Humphrey  in 
his  travels  by  the  aid  of  his  letters  and  a  mappa  mundi,  or  atlas, 
which  the  rector  possessed.  Then  I  remember  when  we  heard 
that  the  boys  were  about  to  ride  together  through  France  from 
Montpellier  to  Leyden  in  Holland,  we  had  on  the  table  the  great 
map  of  France.  There  were  many  drawings,  coats-of-arms,  and 
other  pretty  things  on  the  map. 

"  It  is  now,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  finding  out  the  place  he  wanted, 
and  keeping  his  forefinger  upon  it,  "  nearly  thirty  years  since  I 
made  the  grand  tour,  being  then  governor  to  the  young  Lord 
Silchester,  who  afterwards  died  of  the  plague  in  London.  Else 
had  I  been  now  a  bishop,  wlio  am  forgotten  in  this  little  place. 
The  boys  will  ride,  I  take  it,  by  the  same  road  which  we  took ; 
first,  because  it  is  the  high-road  and  the  safest ;  next,  because  it 
is  the  best  provided  with  inns  and  resting-places ;  and,  lastly, 
because  it  passes  through  the  best  part  of  his  most  Christian 
majesty's  dominions,  and  carries  the  traveller  through  his  finest 
and  most  stately  cities.  From  Montpellier  they  will  ride — fol- 
low my  finger,  child — to  Nismes.  Before  the  Revocation  it  was 
a  great  place  for  those  of  the  Reformed  religion,  and  a  populous 
town.     Here  they  will  not  fail  to  visit  the  Roman  temple  which 


FOR    FAITil    AND    FREEDOM.  G5 

still  stands.  It  is  not,  indeed,  such  a  noble  monument  as  one 
may  see  in  Rome ;  but  it  is  in  good  preservation,  and  a  fair  ex- 
ample of  the  later  style.  They  will  also  visit  the  great  amphi. 
theatre,  which  should  be  cleared  of  the  mean  houses  which  are 
now  built  up  within  it,  and  so  exposed  in  all  its  vastness  to  the 
admiration  of  the  world.  After  seeing  these  things  they  will  di- 
rect their  way  across  a  desolate  piece  of  country  to  Avignon, 
passing  on  the  way  the  ancient  Roman  aqueduct  called  the  Pont 
de  Gard.  At  Avignon  they  will  admire  the  many  churches  and 
the  walls,  and  will  not  fail  to  visit  the  Palace  of  the  Popes  dur- 
ing the  Great  Schism.  Thence  they  will  ride  northwards,  un- 
less they  wish  first  to  see  the  Roman  remains  at  Aries.  Thence 
will  they  proceed  up  the  valley  of  the  Rhone,  through  many 
stately  towns,  till  they  come  to  Lyons,  where,  doubtless  they  will 
sojourn  for  a  few  days.  Xext,  they  will  journey  through  the  rich 
country  of  Burgundy,  and  from  the  ancient  town  of  Dijon  will 
reach  Paris  through  the  city  of  Fontainebleau.  On  the  way 
they  will  see  many  windows,  noble  houses  and  castles,  with  rich 
towns  and  splendid  churches.  In  no  country  are  there  more  splen- 
did churches,  built  in  the  Gothic  style,  which  we  have  now  forgot- 
ten. Some  of  them,  alas !  have  been  defaced  in  the  wars  (so- 
called  of  religion),  where,  as  happened  also  to  us,  the  delicate 
carved  work,  the  scrolls  and  flowers  and  statues  were  destroyed, 
and  the  painted  windows  broken,  Alas !  that  men  should  refuse 
to  suffer  art  to  beco"me  the  minister  and  handmaid  of  religion ! 
Yet  in  the  first  and  most  glorious  temple  in  which  the  glory  of  the 
Lord  was  visibly  present,  there  w-ere  carved  and  graven  lilies,  with 
lions,  oxen,  chariots,  cherubim,  palm-trees,  and  pomegranates." 

He  closed  his  atlas  and  sat  down. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  meditating.  "  For  a  scholar,  in  his  youth, 
there  is  no  pleasure  comparable  with  the  pleasure  of  travelling  in 
strange  countries,  among  the  monuments  of  ancient  days.  My 
own  son  did  never,  to  my  sorrow,  desire  the  pleasant  paths  of 
learning,  and  did  never  show  any  love  for  the  arts,  in  which  I 
have  always  taken  so  great  delight.  He  desireth  rather  the  com- 
panionship of  men ;  he  loveth  to  drink  and  sing ;  and  he  nour- 
isheth  a  huge  ambition.  'Tis  best  that  we  are  not  all  alike. 
Humphrey  should  have  been  my  son.  Forget  not,  my  child,  that 
he  hath  desired  to  be  remembered  to  thee  in  every  letter  Avhich 
he  hath  written." 

E 


66  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

If  the  rector  spoke  much  of  Humphrey,  madam  made  amends 
by  talking  continually  of  Robin,  and  of  the  great  things  that  he 
would  do  Avhen  he  returned  home.  Justice  of  the  peace,  that  he 
would  certainly  be  made  ;  captain  first  and  afterwards  colonel  in 
the  Somerset  Militia,  that  also  should  he  be  ;  knight  of  the  shire, 
if  he  were  ambitious — but  that  I  knew  he  would  never  be  ;  high 
sheriff  of  the  county,  if  his  slender  means  permitted — for  the  es- 
tate was  not  worth  more  than  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds  a 
year.  Perhaps  he  would  marry  an  heiress :  it  would  be  greatly 
to  the  advantage  of  the  family  if  an  heiress  were  to  come  into  it 
with  broad  acres  of  her  own ;  but  she  was  not  a  woman  who 
would  seek  to  control  her  son  in  the  matter  of  his  affections, 
and  if  he  chose  a  girl  with  no  fortune  to  her  back,  if  she  was  a 
good  girl  and  pious,  madam  would  never  say  him  nay.  And  he 
would  soon  return.  The  boy  had  been  at  Oxford  and  next  in 
London,  learning  Law,  such  as  justices  require.  He  was  now 
with  Humphrey  at  the  University  of  Leyden,  doubtless  learning 
more  law. 

"  My  dear,"  said  madam,  "  we  want  him  home.  His  grand- 
father groweth  old,  though  still,  thank  God,  in  the  full  posses- 
sion of  his  faculties.  Yet  a  young  man's  presence  is  needed.  I 
trust  and  pray  that  he  will  return  as  he  went,  innocent,  in  spite  of 
the  many  temptations  of  the  wicked  city.  And,  oh !  child — 
what  if  he  should  have  lost  his  heart  to  some  designing  city 
hussy  !" 

He  came — as  ye  shall  liear  immediately — Robin  came  home. 
Would  to  God  that  he  had  Avaited,  if  only  for  a  single  month ! 
Had  he  not  come  all  our  afflictions  would  have  been  spared  us ! 
Had  he  not  come  that  good  old  man.  Sir  Christopher — but  it  is 
vain  to  imagine  what  might  have  been.  We  are  in  the  hands 
of  the  Lord  ;  nothing  that  hapjjens  to  us  is  permitted  but  by 
him,  and  for  some  wise  purpose  was  Sir  Cbristopher  in  his  old 
age — alas  !  why  should  I  anticipate  what  I  have  to  narrate  ? 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  67 


CHAPTER  X. 

LE     ROY     EST     MORT. 

In  February  of  the  year  1C85  King  Charles  II.  died. 

Sir  Christopher  himself  brought  us  the  news  from  Sherborne, 
whither  he  had  gone,  as  was  his  wont,  to  the  weekly  ordinary. 
He  clattered  up  the  lane  on  his  eob,  and  halted  at  our  gate. 

"  Call  thy  father,  child.  Give  you  good-day.  Madam  Eykin. 
Will  your  husband  leave  his  books  and  come  forth  for  a  mo- 
ment ?     Tell  him  I  have  news." 

My  father  rose  and  obeyed.  His  gown  was  in  rags ;  his  feet 
were  clad  in  cloth  shoon,  which  I  worked  for  him  ;  his  cheek 
was  wasted  ;  but  his  eye  was  keen.  He  was  lean  and  tall ;  his 
hair  was  as  white  as  Sir  Christopher's,  though  he  was  full  twen- 
ty years  younger. 

"  Friend  and  gossip,"  siiid  Sir  Christopher,  "  the  king  is 
dead." 

"  Is  Charles  Stewart  dead  ?"  my  father  replied.  "  He  cum- 
bered the  earth  too  long.  For  iive-and-twenty  years  hath  he 
persecuted  the  saints.  Also  he  hath  burnt  incense  after  the 
abomination  of  the  heathen.     Let  his  lot  be  as  the  lot  of  Ahaz." 

"  Nay  ;  he  is  buried  by  this  time.  His  brother  the  Duke  of 
York  hath  been  proclaimed  king." 

"  James  the  Papist.  It  is  as  though  Manasseh  should  succeed 
to  Ahaz.     And  after  him  Jehoiakim." 

"  Yet  the  bells  will  ring  and  we  shall  pray  for  the  king ;  and 
wise  men,  Friend  Eykin,  will  do  well  to  keep  silence." 

"  There  is  a  time  to  speak  and  a  time  to  keep  silence.  It  may 
be  that  the  time  is  at  hand  when  a  godly  man  must  stretch  forth 
his  hand  to  tear  down  the  Scarlet  Woman,  though  she  slay  him 
in  the  attempt." 

"  It  may  be  so,  Friend  Eykin  ;  yet  stretch  not  forth  thine  hand 
until  thou  art  well  assured  of  the  divine  command.  The  king  is 
dead.     Now  will  my  son-in-law  ring  out  the  bells  for  the  new 


08  FOR    FAITU    AND    FREEDOM. 

king,  ami  we  sball  pray  for  him,  as  we  prayed  for  his  brother. 
It  is  our  duty  to  pray  for  all  in  authority,  though  to  the  prayers 
of  a  whole  nation  there  seemeth,  so  far  as  human  reason  can 
perceive,  no  answer." 

"  I,  for  one,  will  pray  no  more  for  a  king  who  is  a  papist. 
Rather  will  I  pray  daily  for  his  overthrow." 

"  King  Charles  is  said  to  have  received  a  priest  before  he  died. 
Yet  it  is  worse  that  tlie  king  should  be  an  open  than  a  secret 
Catholic.     Let  us  be  patient.  Dr.  Eykin,  and  await  the  time." 

So  he  rode  up  the  village,  and  presently  the  bells  were  set 
a-ringing,  and  they  clashed  as  joyously,  echoing  around  the  Gor- 
ton Hills,  as  if  the  accession  of  King  James  II.  was  the  only  thing 
wanted  to  make  the  nation  prosperous,  happy,  and  religious. 

My  father  stood  at  the  gate  after  Sir  Christopher  left  him. 
The  wind  was  cold,  and  the  twilight  was  falling,  and  his  cassock 
was  thin,  but  he  remained  there  motionless,  until  my  mother  went 
out  and  drew  him  back  to  the  house  by  the  arm.  He  went  into 
his  own  room,  but  he  read  no  more  that  day. 

In  the  evening  he  came  forth  and  sat  with  us,  and  while  I  sat 
sewing,  my  mother  spinning,  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  he  dis- 
coursed, which  was  unusual  with  him,  upon  things  and  peoples 
and  the  best  form  of  government,  which  he  held  to  be  a  common- 
wealth, with  a  strong  man  for  president.  But  he  was  to  hold  his 
power  from  the  people,  and  was  to  lay  it  down  frequently,  lest 
he  should  in  his  turn  be  tempted  to  become  a  king.  And  if  he 
were  to  fall  away  from  righteousness,  or  to  live  in  open  sin,  or  to 
be  a  merrymaker,  or  to  suffer  his  country  to  fall  from  a  high 
place  among  the  nations,  he  was  to  be  displaced,  and  be  forced 
to  retire.  As  for  the  man  Charles,  now  dead,  he  would  become, 
my  father  said,  an  example  to  all  future  ages,  and  a  warning  of 
what  may  happen  when  the  doctrine  of  Divine  Right  is  generally 
accepted  and  acted  upon  ;  the  king  himself  being  not  so  much 
blamed  by  him  as  the  practice  of  hereditary  rule  which  caused 
him  to  be  seated  upon  the  throne,  when  his  true  place,  my  father 
said,  was  among  the  lackeys  and  varlets  of  the  palace.  "  His 
brother  James,"  he  added,  "  had  now  an  opportunity  which 
occurred  to  few — for  he  might  become  another  Josiali.  But  I 
think  he  will  neglect  that  opportunity,"  he  concluded  ;  yea,  even 
if  Hilkiah  the  Priest  were  to  bring  him  a  message  from  Huldali 
the  Prophetess  ;  for  he  doth  belong  to  a  family  which,  by  the 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  69 

divine  displeasure,  can  never  perceive  the  truth.  Let  us  now 
read  the  Word,  and  wrestle  with  the  Lord  in  prayer." 

Next  we  heard  that  loyal  addresses  were  poured  in  from  all 
quarters  congratulating  the  ting,  and  promising  most  submissive 
obedience.  One  would  have  thought  that  the  people  were  re- 
joiced at  the  succession  of  a  Roman  Catholic  ;  it  was  said  that 
the  king  liad  promised  liberty  of  conscience  unto  all ;  that  he 
claimed  that  liberty  for  himself,  and  that  he  went  to  mass  daily 
and  openly. 

But  many  there  were  who  foresaw  trouble.  Unfortunately, 
one  of  them  was  Sir  Christopher,  who  spoke  his  mind  at  all 
times  too  fiercely  for  his  safety.  Mr.  Boscorel,  also,  was  of  opin- 
ion that  civil  war  would  speedily  ensue. 

"  The  king's  friends,"  he  said,  "  may  for  a  time  bay  the  sup- 
port of  the  Nonconformists,  and  make  a  show  of  religious  liber- 
ty. Thus  may  they  govern  for  a  while.  But  it  is  not  in  the 
nature  of  the  Roman  Catholic  priest  to  countenance  religious 
liberty,  or  to  sit  down  contented  with  less  than  all  the  pie.  They 
must  forever  sclieme  and  intrigue  for  more  power.  Religious 
liberty  ?  It  means  to  them  the  eternal  damnation  of  those  who 
hold  themselves  free  to  think  for  themselves.  They  Avould  be 
less  than  human  if  they  did  not  try  to  save  the  souls  of  the  peo- 
ple by  docking  their  freedom.  They  must  make  this  country 
even  as  Spain  or  Italy.  Is  it  to  be  believed  that  they  will  suffer 
the  Church  to  retain  her  revenues,  or  the  universities  to  remain 
out  of  their  control  ?  Nay,  will  they  allow  the  grammar  schools 
to  be  in  the  hands  of  Protestants  ?  Never !  The  next  genera- 
tion will  be  wholly  Catholic,  unless  the  present  generation  send 
king  and  priests  packing." 

These  were  treasonable  words,  but  they  were  uttered  in  the 
hall  of  the  manor-house  with  no  other  listeners  than  Sir  Chris- 
topher and  the  rector. 

"  Seeing  these  things,  son-in-law,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  what 
becomes  of  Right  Divine  ?  Where  is  the  duty  of  non-resist- 
ance !" 

"  The  doctrine  of  Right  Divine,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "  includes 
the  divine  institution  of  a  monarchy,  which,  I  confess,  is  mani- 
festly untenable,  because  the  Lord  granted  a  king  to  the  people 
only  because  they  clamored  for  one.  Also,  bad  the  institution 
been  of  divine  foundation,  the  Jews  would  never  have  been  al- 


70  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

lowed  to  live  under  the  rule  of  judges,  tetrarchs,  and  Roman 
governors." 

"  You  have  not  always  spoken  so  plainly,"  said  Sir  Christopher. 

"  Nay ;  why  be  always  proclaiming  to  the  world  your  thoughts 
and  opinions  ?  Besides,  even  if  the  doctrine  of  non-resistance 
were  sound,  there  may  be  cases  in  which  just  laws  may  be  justly 
set  aside.  I  say  not  tliat  this  is  one,  as  yet.  But  if  there  were 
danger  of  the  ancient  superstitions  being  thrust  upon  us  to  the 
destruction  of  our  souls,  I  say  not.  Nay ;  if  a  starving  man  take  a 
loaf  of  bread,  there  being  no  other  way  possible  to  save  his  life, 
one  would  not,  therefore,  hold  him  a  thief.    Yet  the  law  remains." 

"  Shall  the  blood  which  hath  been  poured  out  for  the  cause 
of  liberty  prove  to  be  shed  in  vain  V  asked  Sir  Christopher. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  the  rector,  "  the  same  question  might  be 
asked  in  France,  where  the  Protestants  fought  longer  and  against 
greater  odds  than  we  in  this  country.  Yet  the  blood  of  those 
martyrs  hath  been  shed  in  vain  ;  the  Church  of  Rome  is  there  the 
conqueror  indeed.  It  is  laid  upon  the  Protestants,  even  upon  us, 
vi^ho  hold  that  we  arc  a  true  branch  of  the  ancient  Apostolic 
Church,  to  defend  ourselves  continually  against  an  enemy  who 
is  always  at  unity,  always  guided  by  one  man,  always  knows  what 
he  wants,  and  is  always  working  to  get  it.  We,  on  the  other 
hand,  do  not  know  our  own  minds,  and  must  forever  be  quarrel- 
ling among  ourselves.  Nevertheless,  the  heart  of  the  country  is 
Protestant ;  and  sooner  or  later  the  case  of  conscience  may  arise 
whether — the  law  remaining  unchanged — v/e  may  not  blamelessly 
break  the  law  ?" 

That  case  of  conscience  was  not  yet  ripe  for  consideration. 
There  needed  first  many  things — including  the  martyrdom  of 
saints  and  innocent  men  and  poor,  ignorant  rustics — before  the 
country  roused  herself  once  more  to  seize  her  liberties.  Then 
as  to  that  poor  doctrine  of  Divine  Right,  they  all  made  a  mouth- 
ful of  it,  except  only  a  small  and  harmless  band  of  nonjurors. 

At  the  outset,  whatever  the  opinions  of  the  people — who  could 
have  been  made  to  rise  as  one  man — the  gentry  remained  loyal. 
Above  all  things,  they  dreaded  another  civil  war. 

"  We  must  fain  accept  the  king's  professions,"  said  the  rector. 
"  If  we  have  misgivings,  let  us  disguise  them.  Let  us  rather 
nourish  the  hope  that  they  are  honestly  meant ;  and  let  us  wait. 
England  will  not  become  another  Spain  in  a  single  day.     Let  us 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  7l 

wait.     The  stake  is  not  yet  set  up  in  Smitbficid,  and  the  Inqui- 
sition is  not  yet  established  in  the  country," 

It  was  in  this  temper  that  the  king's  accession  found  Sir 
Christopher.  Afterwards  he  was  accused  of  having  harbored 
designs  against  the  king  from  the  beginning.  That,  indeed,  was 
not  the  case.  He  had  no  thought  of  entering  into  any  such  en- 
terprise. Yet  he  never  doubted  that  in  the  end  there  would  be 
an  uprising  against  the  rule  of  the  priests.  Nor  did  he  doubt 
that  the  king  would  be  pushed  on  by  his  advisers  to  one  preten- 
sion after  another  for  the  advancement  of  his  own  prerogative 
and  the  displacement  of  the  Protestant  Church.  Nay,  he  openly 
predicted  that  there  would  be  such  attempts ;  and  he  main- 
tained— such  was  his  wisdom — that,  in  the  long  run,  the  Protes- 
tant faith  would  be  established  upon  a  surer  foundation  than 
ever.  But  as  for  conspiring  or  being  cognizant  of  any  conspir- 
acy, that  was  untrue.  Why,  he  was  at  this  time  seventy-five 
years  of  age — a  time  when  such  men  as  Sir  Christopher  have 
continually  before  their  eyes  death  and  the  judgment. 

As  for  my  father,  perhaps  I  am  wrong,  but  in  the  daily  pray- 
ers of  night  and  morning,  and  in  the  "  Grace  before  meat,"  he 
seemed  to  find  a  freer  utterance,  and  to  wrestle  more  vehement- 
ly than  was  his  wont  on  the  subject  of  the  Scarlet  Woman,  offer- 
ing himself  as  a  willing  martyr  and  confessor,  if  by  the  shedding  of 
his  blood  the  great  day  of  her  final  overthrow  might  be  advanced  ; 
yet  always  humble,  not  daring  to  think  of  himself  as  anything 
but  an  instrument  to  do  the  will  of  his  Master.  In  the  end,  his 
death  truly  helped,  with  others,  to  bring  a  Protestant  king  to  the 
throne  of  these  isles.  And  since  we  knew  him  to  be  so  deep  a 
scholar,  always  reading  and  learning,  and  in  no  sense  a  man  of 
activity,  the  thing  which  he  presently  did  amazed  us  all.  Yet 
we  ought  to  have  known  that  one  who  is  under  the  divine  com- 
mand to  preach  the  Word  of  God,  and  hath  been  silenced  by 
man  for  more  than  twenty  years,  so  that  the  strength  of  his  man- 
hood hath  run  to  waste  and  is  lost — it  is  a  most  terrible  and 
grievous  thing  for  a  man  to  be  condemned  to  idleness — may  be- 
come like  unto  one  of  those  burning  mountains  of  which  we 
sometimes  read  in  books  of  voyages.  In  him,  as  in  them,  the 
inner  fires  rage  and  burn,  growing  ever  stronger  and  fiercer,  un- 
til presently  they  rend  asunder  the  sides  of  the  rnountain  and 
burst  forth,  pouring  down  liquid  fire  over  the  unhappy  valleys 


72  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

beneath,  with  showers  of  red-hot  ashes  to  destroy  and  cover  up 
the  smiling  homesteads  and  the  fertile  meadows. 

It  is  true  that  my  father  chafed  continually  at  the  inaction 
forced  upon  him,  but  his  impatience  was  never  so  strong  as  at 
this  time,  namely,  after  the  accession  of  King  James.  It  drove 
him  from  his  books  and  out  into  the  fields  and  lanes,  where  he 
walked  to  and  fro,  waving  his  long  arms,  and  sometimes  crying 
aloud  and  shouting  in  the  w^oods,  as  if  compelled  to  cry  out  in 
order  to  quench  some  raging  fever  or  heat  of  his  mind. 

About  this  time,  too,  I  remember,  they  began  to  talk  of  the 
exiles  in  Holland.  The  Duke  of  Monmouth  was  there  with  the 
Earl  of  Argyle,  and  with  them  a  company  of  firebrands  eager 
to  get  back  to  England  and  their  property. 

I  am  certain  now  that  my  father  (and  perhaps  through  his  in- 
formation, Sir  Christopher  also)  was  kept  acquainted  with  the 
plots  and  designs  that  were  carried  on  in  the  Low  Countries. 
Nay ;  I  am  also  certain  that  his  informant  was  none  other  than 
Humphrey,  who  was  still  in  Leyden.  I  have  seen  a  letter  from 
him,  written,  as  I  now  understand,  in  a  kind  of  allegory  or  para- 
ble, in  which  one  thing  was  said  and  anotlier  meant.  Thus,  he 
pretends  to  speak  of  Dutch  gardening :  "  The  gardeners,"  he 
says,  "  take  infinite  pains  that  their  secrets  shall  not  be  learned  or 
disclosed.  I  know,  however,  that  a  certain  blue  tulip  much  de- 
sired by  many  gardeners  in  England,  will  be  taken  across  the 
water  this  year,  and  I  hope  that  by  next  year  the  precious  bulb 
may  be  fully  planted  in  English  soil.  The  preparation  of  the 
soil  necessary  for  the  favorable  reception  of  the  bulb  is  well 
known  to  you,  and  you  will  understand  how  to  mix  your  soil  and 
to  add  manure  and  so  forth.  I  myself  expect  to  finish  what  I 
have  to  do  in  a  few  weeks,  when  I  shall  cross  to  London,  and  so 
ride  westwards,  and  hope  to  pay  my  respects  to  my  revered 
tutor  in  the  month  of  June  next.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  come 
with  the  tulip,  but  that  is  not  certain.  Many  messages  have  been 
received  offering  large  sums  of  money  for  the  bulb,  so  that  it  is 
hoped  that  the  Dutch  gardeners  will  let  it  go. — From  H.  C." 

The  tulip,  you  see,  was  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  and  the 
Dutch  gardeners  were  the  Scotch  and  English  exiles  then  in 
Holland,  and  the  English  gardeners  were  the  duke's  friends,  and 
H.  C.  was  Humphrey  Challis. 

I  think  that  Sir  Christopher  must  have  known  of  this  cor- 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  73 

respondence,  because  I  now  remember  tliat  my  father  would  sit 
with  him  for  many  hours  looking  at  a  map  of  England,  and  had 
been  conversing  earnestly,  and  making  notes  in  a  book.  These 
notes  he  made  in  the  Arabic  character,  which  no  one  but  him- 
self could  read.  I  therefore  suppose  that  he  was  estimating  the 
number  of  Nonconformists  who  might  be  disposed  to  aid  in 
such  an  enterprise  as  Humphrey's  "  gardeners "  were  contem- 
plating. 

Robin,  who  certainly  was  no  conspirator,  also  wrote  a  letter 
from  Leyden  about  this  time  saying  that  something  was  expected, 
nobody  knew  what ;  but  that  the  exiles  were  meeting  constantly, 
as  if  something  were  brewing. 

Tt  was  about  the  first  week  in  June  that  the  news  came  to  us 
of  Lord  Argyle's  landing.  This  was  the  beginning.  After  that, 
as  you  will  hear,  the  news  came  thick  and  fast ;  every  day  some- 
thing fresh,  and  something  to  quicken  the  most  sluggish  pulse. 
To  me,  at  least,  it  seemed  as  if  the  breath  of  God  himself  was 
poured  out  upon  the  country,  and  that  the  people  were  every- 
where resolved  to  banish  the  accursed  thing  from  their  midst. 
Alas !  that  simple  country  maid  was  deceived  !  The  accursed 
thing  was  to  be  driven  forth,  but  not  yet.  The  country  party 
hated  the  pope,  but  they  dreaded  civil  war ;  and,  indeed,  there 
is  hardly  any  excuse  for  that  most  dreadful  scourge,  except  the 
salvation  of  the  soul  and  the  safeguarding  of  liberties.  They 
would  gladly  welcome  a  rising,  but  it  must  be  general  and  uni- 
versal. They  had  for  five-and-twenty  years  been  taught  the 
wickedness  of  rebellion,  and  now  there  was  no  way  to  secure  the 
Protestant  faith  except  by  rebellion.  Unhappily,  the  rebellion 
began  before  the  country  gentlemen  were  ready  to  begin. 


CHAPTER  XL 

BEFORE     THE     STORM. 


Before  the  storm  breaks  there  sometimes  falls  upon  the  earth 
a  brief  time  when  the  sun  shines  in  splendor  from  a  clear  sky, 
the  air  is  balmy  and  delightsome,  the  birds  sing  in  the  coppice, 
and  the  innocent  lambs  leap  in  the  meadows.  Then,  suddenly, 
black  clouds  gather  from  the  north ;  the  wind  blows  cold ;  in  a 
4 


74  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

minute  the  sky  is  black ;  the  lightnings  flash,  the  thunders  roll, 
the  wind  roars,  the  hail  beats  down  and  strips  the  orchard  of  its 
promise,  and  silences  the  birds  cowering  in  the  branches,  and 
drives  the  trembling  sheep  to  take  shelter  in  the  hedges. 

This  was  to  be  my  case.  You  shall  understand  how  for  a  sin- 
gle day — it  was  no  more — I  was  the  happiest  girl  in  all  the  world. 

I  may  without  any  shame  confess  that  I  have  always  loved 
Robin  from  my  earliest  childhood.  That  was  no  great  wonder, 
seeing  what  manner  of  boy  he  was,  and  how  he  was  always  kind 
and  thoughtful  for  me.  We  were  at  first  only  brother  and  sis- 
ter together,  which  is  natural  and  reasonable  when  children  grow 
up  together ;  nor  can  I  tell  when  or  how  we  ceased  to  be  broth- 
er and  sister,  save  that  it  may  have  been  when  Robin  kissed  me 
so  tenderly  at  parting,  and  told  me  that  he  should  always  love 
me.  I  do  not  think  that  brothers  do  generally  protest  love  and 
promise  continual  affection.  Barnaby  certainly  never  declared 
his  love  for  me,  nor  did  he  ever  promise  to  love  me  all  his  life. 
Perhaps,  had  he  remained  longer,  he  might  have  become  as  ten- 
der as  he  was  good-hearted  ;  but  I  think  that  tenderness  towards 
a  sister  is  not  in  the  nature  of  a  boy.  I  loved  Robin,  and  I  loved 
Humphrey,  both  as  if  they  were  brothers ;  but  one  of  them  ceased 
to  be  my  brother,  while  the  other,  in  consequence,  remained  my 
brother  always. 

A  girl  may  be  ignorant  of  the  world  as  I  was,  and  of  lovers 
and  their  ways  as  I  was,  and  yet  she  cannot  grow  from  a  child 
to  a  woman  without  knowing  that  when  a  young  man  who  hath 
promised  to  love  her  always,  speaks  of  her  in  every  letter,  he 
means  more  than  common  brotherly  love.  Nor  can  any  woman 
be  indifferent  to  a  man  who  thus  regards  her ;  nor  can  she  think 
upon  love  without  the  desire  of  being  herself  loved.  Truly,  I 
had  always  before  my  eyes  the  spectacle  of  that  holy  love  which 
consecrates  every  part  of  life.  I  mean  in  the  case  of  my  mother, 
whose  waking  and  sleeping  thoughts  were  all  for  her  husband ; 
who  worked  continually  and  cheerfully  with  her  hands  that  he 
might  be  enabled  to  study  without  other  work,  and  gave  up  her 
whole  life,  without  grudging — even  reckoning  it  her  happiness 
and  his  privilege — in  order  to  provide  food  and  shelter  for  him. 
It  was  enough  reward  for  her  that  he  should  sometimes  lay  his 
hand  lovingly  upon  her  head,  or  turn  his  eyes  with  affection  to 
meet  hers. 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  75 

It  was  in  the  night  of  June  12,  as  I  lay  in  bed,  not  yet  asleep, 
though  it  was  already  past  nine  o'clock,  that  I  heard  the  tramp- 
ling of  hoofs  crossing  the  stream  and  passing  our  cottage.  Had 
I  known  who  were  riding  those  horses  there  would  have  been  but 
little  sleep  for  me  that  night.  But  I  kncAv  not,  and  did  not  sus- 
pect, and  so,  supposing  that  it  was  only  one  of  the  farmers  be- 
lated, I  closed  my  eyes,  and  presently  slept  until  the  morning. 

About  five  o'clock,  or  a  little  before  that  time,  I  awoke,  the  sun 
having  already  arisen,  and  being  now  well  above  the  hill.  I  arose 
softly,  leaving  my  mother  asleep  still,  and,  having  dressed  quick- 
ly, and  prayed  a  little,  I  crept  softly  down  the  stairs.  In  the 
house  there  was  such  a  stillness  that  I  could  even  hear  the  regu- 
lar breathing  of  my  father  as  he  slept  upon  his  pallet  among  his 
books ;  it  was  chill  and  damp  (as  is  the  custom  in  the  early 
morning)  in  the  room  where  we  lived  and  worked.  Yet,  when 
I  threw  open  door  and  shutter  and  looked  outside,  the  air  was 
full  of  warmth  and  refreshment ;  as  for  the  birds,  they  had  long 
since  left  their  nests,  and  now  were  busy  looking  for  their  break- 
fast ;  the  larks  were  singing  overhead,  and  the  bees  already  hum- 
ming and  droning.  Who  would  lie  abed  when  he  could  get  up 
and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  morning  ?  When  I  had  breathed 
awhile,  with  pleasure  and  satisfaction,  the  soft  air,  which  was 
laden  with  the  scent  of  flow^ers  and  of  hay,  I  went  in-doors  again, 
and  swept  and  dusted  the  room.  Then  I  opened  the  cupboard, 
and  considered  the  provision  for  breakfast.  For  my  father  there 
would  be  a  slice  of  cold  bacon  with  a  good  crust  of  homemade 
bread  (better  bread  or  sweeter  was  nowhere  to  be  had)  and  a 
cup  of  cider,  warming  to  the  spirits  and  good,  for  one  who  is  no 
longer  young,  against  any  rawness  of  the  morning  air.  For  my 
mother  and  myself  there  would  be,  as  soon  as  our  neighbors' 
cows  were  milked,  a  cup  of  warm  milk  and  bread  soaked  in  it. 
'Tis  a  breakfast  good  for  a  grown  person  as  well  as  for  a  child, 
and  it  cost  us  nothing  but  the  trouble  of  going  to  take  it. 

W^hen  I  had  swept  the  room  and  laid  everything  in  its  place 
I  went  into  the  garden,  hoe  in  hand,  to  weed  the  beds  and  trim 
the  borders.  The  garden  was  not  very  big,  it  is  true,  but  it  pro- 
duced many  things  useful  for  us ;  notably  onions  and  sallet,  be- 
sides many  herbs  good  for  the  house,  for  it  was  a  fertile  strip  of 
ground,  and  planted  in  every  part  of  it.  Now,  such  was  the 
beauty  of  the  morning  and  the  softness  of  the  air  that  I  pres- 


76  FOR    FAITH    AND    FRKEDOM. 

ently  forgot  the  work  about  Avliich  I  had  come  into  the  garden, 
and  sat  down  in  the  shade  upon  a  bench,  suffering  my  thoughts 
to  wander  hither  and  thither.  Much  have  I  always  pitied  those 
poor  folk  in  towns  who  can  never  escape  from  the  noise  and 
clatter  of  tongues,  and  sit  somewhere  in  the  sunshine  or  the 
shade,  while  the  cattle  low  in  the  meadows  and  the  summer  air 
makes  the  leaves  to  rustle,  and  suffer  their  thoughts  to  wander 
here  and  there.  Every  morning  when  I  arose  was  this  spectacle 
of  nature's  gladness  presented  to  my  eyes,  but  not  every  morn- 
ing could  my  spirit  (which  sometimes  crawls  as  if  fearing  the 
light  of  day  and  the  face  of  the  sun)  rise  to  meet  and  greet  it, 
and  to  feel  it  calling  aloud  for  a  hymn  of  praise  and  thanksgiv- 
ing. For,  indeed,  this  is  a  beautiful  world,  if  we  could  always 
suifer  its  loveliness  (which  we  cannot  for  the  earthliness  of  our 
natures)  to  sink  into  our  hearts.  I  know  not  Avhat  I  thought 
this  morning ;  but  I  remember,  while  I  considered  the  birds, 
which  neither  reap  nor  sow,  nor  take  any  thought  of  to-morrow, 
yet  are  daily  fed  by  Heaven,  that  the  Avords  were  whispered  in 
mine  ear,  "  Are  ye  not  much  better  than  they  ?"  And  this, 
without  doubt,  prepared  my  heart  for  what  should  follow. 

While  I  sat  thinking  of  I  know  not  what,  there  came  foot- 
steps— quick  footsteps — along  the  road  ;  and  I  knew  those  foot- 
steps, and  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  ran  to  the  garden-gate,  crying 
"  Robin  !— it  is  Robin  !'' 

Yes  ;  it  was  Robin. 

He  seized  me  by  both  hands,  looking  in  my  face  curiously 
and  eagerly. 

"  Grace  !"  he  said,  drawing  a  deep  breath  ;  "  Oh  !  but  what 
hath  happened  to  thee  ?" 

"  What  should  happen,  Robin  ?" 

*'  Oh  !  Thou  art  changed,  Grace  !  1  left  thee  almost  a  child, 
and  now — now — 1  thought  to  catch  thee  in  my  arms — a  sweet 
rustic  nymph — and  now — fain  must  I  go  upon  my  knees  to  a 
goddess." 

"  Robin  !"  Who,  indeed,  would  have  expected  such  language 
from  Robin  ? 

"  Grace,"  he  said,  still  gazing  upon  me  with  a  kind  of  won- 
der Avhich  made  me  blush,  "  do  you  remember  when  we  parted, 
four  years  ago,  the  words  we  said  ?  As  for  me,  I  have  never 
forgotten  them.     I  was  to  think  of  thee  always ;  I  was  to  love 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  77 

thee  always.  Truly  I  may  say  that  there  is  never  a  day  but 
thou  hast  been  in  my  mind.  But  not  like  this."  He  continued 
to  look  upon  me  as  upon  some  strange  creature,  so  that  I  began 
to  be  frightened,  and  turned  away. 

"  Nay,  Grace,  forgive  me.  I  am  one  who  is  dazzled  by  the 
splendor  of  the  sun.  Forgive  me  ;  I  cannot  speak.  I  thought 
of  a  village  beauty,  rosy-cheeked,  sweet  and  wholesome  as  an 
August  quarander,  and  I  find — " 

"  Robin — not  a  goddess." 

'*  Well,  then,  a  woman  tali  and  stately,  and  more  beautiful 
than  words  can  say." 

"  Nay,  Piobin,  you  do  but  flatter.  That  is  not  like  the  old 
Robin  I  remember  and  " — I  should  have  added — "  loved,"  but 
the  word  stuck. 

"  I  swear,  sweet  saint — if  I  may  swear — nay,  then  I  do  affirm 
that  I  do  not  flatter.  Hear  me  tell  a  plain  tale.  I  have  trav- 
elled far  since  last  I  saw  thee ;  I  have  seen  the  great  ladies  of 
the  court  both  of  St.  James's  and  of  the  Louvre  ;  I  have  seen  the 
famous  beauties  of  Provence  and  the  black-eyed  witches  of  Italy  ; 
but  nowhere  have  I  seen  a  woman  half  so  fair." 

"  Robin — you  must  not !     Nay,  Robin — you  shame  me  !" 

Then  he  knelt  at  my  feet,  and  seized  my  hand  and  kissed  it. 
Oh,  the  foolishness  of  a  man  in  love  !  And  yet  it  pleases  us. 
No  woman  is  worth  it.  No  woman  can  understand  it ;  nor  can 
she  comprehend  the  power  and  might  of  man's  love,  nor  why 
he  singles  out  her  alone  from  all  the  rest,  and  fills  his  heart 
wholly  with  her,  so  that  all  other  women  are  henceforward  as 
his  sisters.  It  is  wonderful ;  it  is  most  wonderful.  Yet  it 
pleases  us.  Nay,  we  thank  God  for  it  with  all  our  heart  and 
with  all  our  soul. 

I  would  not,  if  I  could,  set  down  all  the  things  which  Robin 
said.  First,  because  the  words  of  love  are  sacred ;  next,  be- 
cause I  would  not  that  other  women  should  know  the  extrava- 
gance of  his  praise.  It  was  in  broken  words,  because  love  can 
never  be  eloquent. 

As  for  me,  what  could  I  do  ?  what  could  I  say  ?  For  I  had 
loved  him  from  my  very  childhood,  and  now  all  my  heart  went 
out  from  me  and  became  his.  I  was  all  his.  I  was  his  slave 
to  command.  That  is  the  quality  of  earthly  love  by  which  it 
most  clearly  resembles  the  heavenly  love ;  so  that  just  as  the 


78  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

godly  man  is  wholly  devoted  to  the  will  of  the  Lord  in  all  things 
great  and  small,  resigned  to  his  chastisements,  and  always  anx- 
ious to  live  and  die  in  his  service,  so  in  earthly  love  one  must 
be  wholly  devoted  to  the  person  whom  one  loves. 

And  Robin  was  come  home  again,  and  I  was  lying  in  his  arms, 
and  he  was  kissing  me,  and  calling  me  all  the  sweet  and  tender 
things  that  he  could  invent,  and  laughing  and  sighing  together 
as  if  too  happy  to  be  quiet.  Oh  !  sweetest  moments  of  my  life ! 
Why  did  they  pass  so  quickly  ?  Oh  !  sacrament  of  love,  which 
can  be  taken  only  once,  and  yet  changes  the  whole  of  life,  and 
fills  it  with  memory  which  is  wholly  sweet !  In  all  other  earthly 
things  there  is  something  of  bitterness.  In  this  holy  joy  of  pure 
and  sacred  love  there  is  no  bitterness — no ;  not  any.  It  leaves 
behind  nothing  of  reproach  or  of  repentance,  of  shame  or  of 
sorrow\     It  is  altogether  holy. 

Now,  when  my  boy  had  somewhat  recovered  from  his  first  rapt- 
ure, and  I  had  assured  him  very  earnestly  that  I  was  not,  indeed, 
an  angel,  but  a  most  sinful  woman,  daily  offending  in  my  inner 
thoughts  (which  he  received,  indeed,  with  an  appearance  of  dis- 
belief and  scorn),  I  was  able  to  consider  his  appearance,  which 
was  now  very  fine,  though  always,  as  1  learned  when  I  saw  him 
among  other  gentlemen,  with  some  soberness  as  became  one 
whose  iipbringing  inclined  him  to  soberness  of  dress  as  well  as 
of  speech  and  manner.  He  wore  a  long  wig  of  brown  hair,  which 
might  have  been  his  own  but  for  its  length ;  his  hat  was  laced  and 
cocked,  which  gave  him  a  gallant  and  martial  appearance ;  his 
neckcloth  was  long  and  of  fine  lace ;  beside  him,  in  my  russet 
gown,  I  must  have  looked  truly  plain  and  rustic ;  but  Robin 
was  pleased  not  to  think  so,  and  love  is  a  great  magician  to 
cheat  the  eyes. 

He  was  home  again ;  he  told  me  he  should  travel  no  more 
(yet  you  shall  hear  how  far  he  afterv/ards  travelled) ;  his  only 
desire  now  was  to  stay  at  Lome  and  live  as  his  grandfather  had 
lived,  in  his  native  village ;  he  had  nothing  to  pray  for  but 
the  continuance  of  my  love — of  which,  indeed,  there  was  no 
doubt  possible. 

It  was  now  close  upon  six  o'clock,  and  I  begged  him  to  go 
away  for  the  present,  and  if  my  father  and  Sir  Christopher 
should  agree,  and  it  should  seem  to  his  honor  a  fit  and  proper 
thing  that  Robin  should  marry  a  girl  so  penniless  as  myself, 


^"s. 


"A7id  I  was  lying  in  his  arms,  and  Tie  was  kissing  me,  and  calling  me  all 
the  stceet  and  tender  things  that  he  could  invent." 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  79 

why — then — we  might  meet  again  after  breakfast,  or  after  din- 
ner :  or,  indeed,  at  any  other  time,  and  so  discourse  more  upon 
the  matter.  So  he  left  me,  being  very  rehictant  to  go  ;  and  I, 
forgetting  my  garden  and  what  I  had  come  forth  to  do,  returned 
to  the  house. 

You  must  understand  that  all  these  things  passed  in  the  gar- 
den divided  from  the  lane  by  a  thick  hedge,  and  that  passers-by 
— but  there  were  none — could  not,  very  well,  have  seen  what 
was  done,  though  they  might  have  heard  what  was  said.  But 
if  my  father  had  looked  out  of  his  window  he  could  have  seen, 
and  if  my  mother  had  come  down-stairs  she  also  might  have 
seen  through  the  window,  or  through  the  open  door.  Of  this 
I  thought  not  upon,  nor  was  there  anything  to  hide  ;  "though 
one  would  not  willingly  suffer  any  one,  even  one's  own  mother, 
to  see  and  listen  at  such  a  moment.  Yet  mother  has  since  told 
■  me  that  she  saw  Robin  on  his  knees  kissing  my  hands,  but  she 
withdrew  and  would  not  look  again. 

When  I  stepped  within  the  door  she  was  at  work  with  her 
wheel,  and  looked  up  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  and  tears  were 
in  her  eyes.  Had  I  known  what  she  had  seen,  I  should  have 
been  ashamed. 

"  Daughter,"  she  said,  softly,  "  thy  cheek  is  burning  red. 
Hast  thou,  perchance,  been  too  long  in  the  sun  ?" 

"  No,  mother,  the  sun  is  not  too  hot." 

*'  Daughter,"  she  went  on,  still  smiling  through  tears,  "  thine 
eyes  are  bright  and  glowing.  Hast  thou  a  touch  of  fever  by 
ill  chance  ?" 

"  No,  mother,  I  have  no  fever." 

"  Child,  thy  lips  are  trembling  and  thy  hands  are  shaking. 
My  dear,  my  dear,  what  is  it?    Tell  thy  mother  all." 

She  held  out  her  arms  to  me,  and  I  threw  myself  at  her  feet 
and  buried  my  head  in  her  lap  as  if  I  had  been  again  a  child. 

"  Mother  !  mother  !"  I  cried,  "  Robin  hath  come  home  again, 
and  he  says  he  loves  me,  and  nothing  will  do  but  he  must 
marry  me." 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  kissing  and  fondling  me,  "  Robin  hath 
always  been  a  good  lad,  and  I  doubt  not  that  he  hath  returned 
unspotted  from  the  world  ;  but,  nay,  do  not  let  us  be  too  sure. 
For,  first,  his  honor  must  consent,  and  then  madam  ;  and  thy 
father  must  be  asked — and  he  would  never,  for  any  worldly 


80  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

honor,  suffer  thee  to  marry  an  ungodly  man.  As  for  thy  lack 
of  fortune,  I  know  not  if  it  will  stand  in  the  way ;  and  as  for 
family,  thy  father,  though  he  was  born  in  New  England,  cometh 
of  a  good  stock,  and  I  myself  am  a  gentlewoman,  and  on  both 
sides  we  bear  an  ancient  coat-of-arms.  And  as  for  thyself,  my 
dear,  thou  art — I  thank  God  for  it ! — of  a  sweet  temper  and  an 
obedient  disposition.  From  the  earliest  thou  hast  never  given 
thy  mother  any  uneasiness,  and  I  think  thy  heart  hath  been 
mercifully  disposed  towards  goodness  from  thy  childhood  up- 
ward. It  is  a  special  grace  in  this  our  long  poverty  and  op- 
pression ;  and  it  consoles  me  partly  for  the  loss  of  my  son 
Barnaby."  Here  she  was  silent  for  a  space,  and  her  eyes  filled 
and  brimmed  over.  "  Child,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  thou  art 
comely  in  the  eyes  of  men  ;  that  have  I  known  for  long.  It 
is  partly  for  thy  sweet  looks  that  Sir  Christopher  loves  thee  ; 
Mr.  Boscorel  plays  music  with  thee  because  his  eyes  love  to 
behold  the  beauty  of  woman.  Nay,  I  mean  no  reproach,  be- 
cause it  is  the  nature  of  men  to  love  all  things  beautiful,  whether 
it  be  the  plumage  of  a  bird  or  the  shape  of  a  woman's  head. 
Yes  ;  thou  art  beautiful,  my  dear.  Beauty  passes,  but  love  re- 
mains. Thy  husband  will,  perchance,  never  cease  to  think  thee 
lovely  if  he  still  proves  daily  thy  goodness  and  the  loveliness  of 
thy  heart.  My  dear,  thou  hast  long  comforted  thy  mother  ; 
now  shalt  thou  go,  with  the  blessing  of  the  Lord,  to  be  the 
solace  and  the  joy  of  thy  husband." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

HUMPHREY. 

Presently  my  father  came  in,  the  Bible  in  his  hand.  By  his 
countenance  it  was  plain  that  he  had  been  already  engaged  in 
meditation,  and  that  his  mind  was  charged  as  with  a  message. 

Alas  !  to  think  of  the  many  great  discourses  that  he  pro- 
nounced (being  as  a  dog  who  must  be  muzzled  should  he  leave 
the  farm-yard)  to  us  women  alone.  If  they  were  written  down 
the  world  would  lift  up  its  hands  with  wonder,  and  ask  if  a 
prophet  indeed  had  been  vouchsafed  to  this  unhappy  country. 
The  Roman  Church  will  have  that  the  time  of  saints  did  not 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  81 

end  with  the  last  of  the  apostles  ;  that  may  be,  and  yet  a  saint 
has  no  more  power  after  death  than  remains  in  his  written  words 
and  in  the  memory  of  his  life.  Shall  we  not,  however,  grant 
that  there  may  still  be  prophets,  who  see  and  apprehend  the 
meaning  of  words  and  of  things  more  fully  than  others  even  as 
spiritually-minded  as  themselves  ?  Now,  I  say,  considering  what 
was  immediately  to  befall  us,  the  passage  which  my  father  read 
and  expounded  that  morning  was  in  a  manner  truly  prophetic. 
It  was  the  vision  of  the  basket  of  summer  fruit  which  was  vouch- 
safed to  the  prophet  Amos.  He  read  to  us  that  terrible  chap- 
ter— everybody  knows  it,  though  it  hath  but  fourteen  verses  : 

"  I  will  turn  your  feasts  into  mourning  and  all  your  songs  into 
lamentation.  ...  I  will  send  a  famine  in  the  land  ;  not  a  fam- 
ine of  bread  or  a  thirst  of  water,  but  of  hearing  the  words  of 
the  Lord." 

He  then  applied  the  chapter  to  these  times,  saying  that  the 
Scriptures  and  the  prophecies  apply  not  only  to  the  Israel  of 
the  time  when  Amos  or  any  other  prophet  lived,  but  to  the 
people  of  God  in  all  ages,  yet  so  that  sometimes  one  prophet 
seems  to  deliver  the  message  that  befits  the  time,  and  some- 
times another.  All  these  things  prophesied  by  Amos  had  come 
to  pass  in  this  country  of  Great  Britain,  so  that  there  was,  and 
had  now  been  for  twenty-five  years,  a  grievous  famine  and  a 
sore  thirst  for  the  words  of  the  Lord.  He  continued  to  explain 
and  to  enlarge  upon  this  topic  for  nearly  an  hour,  when  he  con- 
cluded with  a  fervent  prayer  that  the  famine  would  pass  away 
and  the  sealed  springs  be  open  again  for  the  children  of  grace 
to  drink  and  be  refreshed. 

This  done,  he  took  his  breakfast  in  silence,  as  was  his  wont, 
loving  not  to  be  disturbed  by  any  earthly  matters  when  his  mind 
was  full  of  his  morning  discourse.  When  he  had  eaten  the 
bread  and  meat  and  taken  the  cup  of  cider,  he  arose  and  went 
back  to  his  own  room,  and  shut  the  door.  We  should  have  no 
more  speech  of  him  until  dinner-time. 

"  I  will  speak  with  him,  my  dear,"  said  my  mother.  "  But 
not  yet.     Let  us  wait  till  we  hear  from  Sir  Christopher." 

"  I  would  that  my  father  had  read  us  a  passage  of  encourage- 
ment and  promise  on  this  morning  of  all  mornings,"  I  said. 

My  mother  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  Bible.  "  I  will  read 
you  a  verse  of  encouragement,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  word  of 
4*  F 


82  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

God  as  much  as  the  Book  of  the  Prophet  Amos."  So  she  found 
and  read  for  my  comfort  words  which  had  a  new  meaninjy  to  me  : 

"  My  belov'ed  spake  and  said  unto  me,  '  Rise  up,  my  love,  my 
fair  one,  and  come  away.  For,  lo  !  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain 
is  over  and  gone  ;  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth  ;  the  time  of 
the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard 
in  our  land  !  The  fig-tree  putteth  forth  her  green  figs,  and  the 
vines  with  the  tender  grape  give  a  good  smell.  Arise,  my  love, 
ray  fair  one,  and  come  away.'  " 

And  again,  these  that  follow  : 

"  Set  me  as  a  seal  upon  thy  heart,  as  a  seal  upon  thine  arm ; 
for  love  is  strong  as  death ;  jealousy  is  cruel  as  the  grave  ;  the 
coals  thereof  are  coals  of  fire,  which  hath  a  most  vehement 
flame.  Many  waters  cannot  quench  love,  neither  can  the  floods 
drown  it.  If  a  man  would  give  all  the  substance  of  his  house 
for  love  it  would  utterly  be  contemned." 

In  these  gracious,  nay,  these  enraptured  words,  doth  the  Bible 
speak  of  love  ;  and  though  I  am  not  so  ignorant  as  not  to  know 
that  it  is  the  love  of  the  Church  for  Christ,  yet  I  am  persuaded 
by  my  own  sjiiritual  experience — whatever  doctors  of  divinity 
may  argue — that  the  earthly  love  of  husband  and  wife  may  be 
spoken  of  in  these  very  words  as  being  the  type  of  that  other 
and  higher  love.  And  in  this  matter  I  know  that  my  mother 
would  also  confirm  my  judgment. 

It  might  have  been  between  nine  and  ten  that  Humphrey 
came.  Surely  he  was  changed  more  than  Robin  ;  for  the  great 
white  periwig  which  he  wore  (being  a  physician)  falling  upon 
his  shoulders  did  partly  hide  the  deformity  of  his  shoulder,  and 
the  black  velvet  coat  did  also  become  him  mightily.  As  for  his 
face,  that  Avas  not  changed  at  all.  It  had  been  grave  and  seri- 
ous in  youth  ;  it  was  now  more  grave  and  more  serious  in  man- 
hood. He  stood  in  the  doorway,  not  seeing  me — I  was  making 
a  pudding  for  dinner,  with  my  sleeves  rolled  up  and  my  arms 
white  with  flour. 

"  Mistress  Eykin,"  he  said,  "  are  old  friends  passed  out  of 
mind  ?" 

"  Why,"  my  mother  left  her  wheel  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
"  'tis  Humphrey  !  I  knew  that  we  should  see  thee  this  morn- 
ing, Humphrey.  Is  thy  health  good,  my  son,  and  is  all  well 
with  thee  ?" 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  83 

*'  All  is  well,  madam,  and  my  health  is  good.  How  is  my 
master — thy  husband  V 

"  He  is  always  well,  and — but  thou  knowest  what  manner  of 
life  he  leads.  Of  late  he  hath  been  much  disquieted  ;  he  is 
restless — his  mind  runs  much  upon  the  prophecies  of  war  and 
pestilence.  It  is  the  news  from  London  and  the  return  of  the 
mass  which  keep  him  uneasy.  Go  in  and  see  him,  Humphrey. 
He  will  willingly  suffer  thee  to  disturb  him,  though  we  must  not 
go  near  him  in  his  hours  of  study." 

"  Presently ;  but  where  is  my  old  playfellow — where  is  Grace  ?" 

"  She  is  behind  you,  Humphrey." 

He  turned,  and  his  pale  face  flushed  when  he  saw  me. 

"  Grace  ?"  he  cried.  "  Is  this  Grace  ?  Nay,  she  is  changed 
indeed  !  I  knew  not — I  could  not  expect — nay,  how  could  one 
expect — " 

"  There  is  no  change,"  said  my  mother,  sharply.  *'  Grace 
was  a  child,  and  is  now  a  woman ;  that  is  all." 

"  Humphrey  expects,"  I  said, "  that  we  should  all  stop  still 
while  time  went  on.  You  were  to  become  a  bachelor  of  medi- 
cine, sir,  and  a  fellow  of  All -Souls'  College,  and  to  travel  in 
Italy  and  France,  and  to  come  back  in  a  velvet  coat,  and  a  long 
sword,  and  a  periwig  over  your  shoulders ;  and  I  was  to  be  a 
little  girl  still." 

Humphrey  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  not  only  that,"  he  said ;  "  though  I  confess  that  one 
did  not  make  due  allowance  for  the  flight  of  time.  It  is  that 
the  sweet-faced  child  has  become — " 

"  No,  Humphrey,"  I  said.  "  I  want  no  compliments.  Go 
now,  sir,  and  speak  with  my  father.  Afterwards  you  shall  tell 
me  all  that  you  have  been  doing." 

He  obeyed,  and  opened  my  father's  door. 

"  Humphrey  !"  My  father  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Welcome, 
my  pupil !  Thou  bringest  good  news  ?  Nay  ;  I  have  received 
thy  letters :  I  read  the  good  news  in  thy  face — I  see  it  in  thine 
eyes.     Welcome  home !" 

"  Sir,  I  have,  indeed,  great  news,"  said  Humphrey. 

Then  the  door  was  closed. 

He  stayed  there  for  half  an  hour  and  more ;  and  wc  heard 
from  within  earnest  talk — my  father's  voice  sometimes  uplifted, 
loud  and  angry,  but  Humphrey's  always  low,  as  if  he  did  not 


84  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

wishi  US  to  overhear  them.  So,  not  to  seem  unto  each  other  as 
if  we  were  listening,  mother  and  I  talked  of  other  things,  such 
as  the  lightness  of  the  pudding  and  the  quantity  of  suet  which 
should  be  put  into  it,  and  the  time  it  should  boil  in  the  pot,  and 
other  things  as  women  can  whose  hearts  are  full,  yet  they  must 
needs  be  talking. 

"  Father  hath  much  to  say  to  Humphrey,"  I  said,  after  a  time  ; 
''  he  doth  not  use  to  like  such  interruption  ?" 

"  Humphrey's  conversation  is  no  interruption,  my  dear.  They 
think  the  same  thoughts  and  talk  the  same  language.  Your 
father  may  teach  and  admonish  us,  but  he  can  only  converse 
with  a  scholar  such  as  himself.  It  is  not  the  least  evil  of  our 
oppression  that  he  hath  been  cut  off  from  the  society  of  learned 
men,  in  which  he  used  to  take  so  much  delight.  If  Humphrey 
remains  here  a  little  while  you  shall  see  your  father  lose  the 
eager  and  anxious  look  which  hath  of  late  possessed  him.  He 
will  talk  to  Humphrey,  and  will  clear  his  mind.  Then  he  will 
be  contented  again  for  a  while,  or,  at  least,  resigned." 

Presently  Humphrey  came  forth.  His  face  was  grave  and 
serious.     My  father  came  out  of  the  room  after  him. 

"  Let  us  talk  more,"  he  said — "  let  us  resume  our  talk.  Join 
me  on  the  hillside,  where  none  can  hear  us.  It  is,  indeed,  the 
vision  of  the  basket  of  summer  fruit  that  we  read  this  morn- 
ing." His  face  Avas  working  with  some  inward  excitement,  and 
his  eyes  were  full  of  a  strange  light  as  of  a  glad  conqueror,  or 
of  one — forbid  the  thought !  who  was  taking  a  dire  revenge. 
He  strode  down  the  garden  and  out  into  the  lanes. 

"  Thus,"  said  my  mother,  "  will  he  walk  out  and  sometimes 
remain  in  the  woods,  walking,  preaching  to  the  winds,  and  swing- 
ing his  arms  the  whole  day  long.  Art  thou  a  physician,  and 
canst  thou  heal  him,  Humphrey  ?" 

"  If  the  cause  be  removed,  the  disease  will  be  cured.  Per- 
haps before  long  the  cause  will  be  removed." 

"  The  cause — oh !  the  cause — what  is  the  cause  but  the  tyr- 
anny of  the  law  ?  He  who  was  ordered  by  Heaven  itself  to 
preach  is  silent  for  five-and-twenty  years.  His  very  life  hath 
been  taken  from  him.     And  you  talk  of  removing  the  cause !" 

"  Madam,  if  the  law  suffer  him  once  more  to  preach  freely, 
would  that  satisfy  him — and  you  ?" 

Mv  mother  shook  her  head.     "The  law,  the  law,"  she  said; 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  85 

"  now  we  Lave  a  papist  on  tlie  throne,  it  is  far  more  likely  to 
lead  my  husband  to  the  stake  than  to  set  him  free." 

"  That  shall  we  shortly  see,"  said  Humphrey. 

My  mother  bent  her  head  over  her  wheel  as  one  who  wishes 
to  talk  no  more  upon  the  subject.  She  loved  not  to  speak  con- 
cerning her  husband  to  any  except  to  me. 

I  went  out  into  the  garden  with  Humphrey.  I  was  foolish. 
I  laughed  at  nothing.  I  talked  nonsense.  Oh  !  I  was  so  happy 
that  if  a  pipe  and  tabor  had  been  heard  in  the  village  I  should 
have  danced  to  the  music,  like  poor  Barnaby  the  night  before 
he  ran  away.  I  regarded  not  the  grave  and  serious  face  of  my 
companion. 

"  You  are  merry,  Grace,"  said  Humphrey. 

"  It  is  because  you  are  come  back  again — you  and  Robin. 
Oh !  the  time  has  been  long  and  dull — and  now  you  have  come 
back  we  shall  all  be  happy  again.  Yes ;  my  father  will  cease 
to  fret  and  rage :  he  will  talk  Latin  and  Greek  with  you ;  Sir 
Christopher  will  be  happy  only  in  looking  upon  you ;  madam 
will  have  her  son  home  again ;  and  Mr.  Boscorel  will  bring  out 
all  the  old  music  for  you.  Humphrey,  it  is  a  happy  day  that 
brings  you  home  again." 

"  It  may  be  a  happy  day  also  for  me,"  he  said ;  "  but  there 
is  much  to  be  done.  When  the  business  we  have  in  hand  is  ac- 
complished— " 

"  What  business,  Humphrey  ?"  For  he  spoke  so  gravely  that 
it  startled  me. 

"  'Tis  business  of  which  thy  father  knows,  child.  Nay,  let 
us  not  talk  of  it.  I  think  and  hope  that  it  is  as  good  as  accom- 
plished now  before  it  is  well  taken  in  hand.  It  is  not  of  that 
business  that  I  would  speak.  Grace,  thou  art  so  beautiful  and 
so  tall—" 

"  Nay,  Humphrey.     I  must  not  be  flattered." 

"  And  I  so  crooked." 

"  Humphrey,  I  will  not  hear  this  talk.  You,  so  great  a  scholar, 
thus  to  speak  of  yourself  !" 

"  Let  me  speak  of  myself,  my  dear.  Hear  me  for  a  moment." 
I  declare  that  I  had  not  the  least  thought  of  what  he  was  going 
to  say,  my  mind  being  wholly  occupied  with  the  idea  of  Robin. 

"  I  am  a  physician,  as  you  doubtless  know.     Medicine  Doc- 


86  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.        * 

tor  of  Oxford,  of  Padua,  Montpellier,  and  Lcyden.  I  know  all 
— I  may  fairly  say,  and  without  boasting — that  may  be  learned 
by  one  of  my  age  from  schools  of  medicine  and  from  books  on 
the  science  and  practice  of  healing.  1  believe,  in  short,  that  I 
am  as  good  a  physician  as  can  be  found  within  these  seas.  I 
am  minded,  as  soon  as  tranquillity  is  restored,  to  set  up  as  a 
physician  in  London,  where  I  have  already  many  friends,  and 
am  assured  of  some  support.  I  think,  humbly  speaking,  that 
reasonable  success  awaits  me.  Grace — you  know  that  I  have 
loved  you  all  my  life — will  you  marry  me,  crooked  as  I  am? 
Oh  !  you  cannot  but  know  that  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life. 
Oh !  child,"  he  stretched  forth  his  hands,  and  in  his  eyes  there 
was  a  world  of  longing  and  of  sadness  which  moved  my  heart. 
"  My  dear,  the  crooked  in  body  have  no  friends  among  men ; 
they  cannot  join  in  their  rough  sports,  nor  drink  with  them,  nor 
fight  with  them.  They  have  no  chance  of  happiness  but  in  love, 
my  dear.  My  dear,  give  me  that  chance  ?  I  love  thee.  Oh  ! 
my  dear,  give  me  that  chance  ?" 

Never  had  I  seen  Humphrey  so  moved  before.  I  felt  guilty 
and  ashamed  in  the  presence  of  this  passion  of  which  I  was  the 
most  unworthy  cause. 

"  Oh  !  Humphrey,  stop — for  Heaven's  sake  stop  !  because  I 
am  but  this  very  morning  promised  to  Robin,  who  loves  me, 
too — and  I  love  Robin,  Humphrey."  He  sank  back,  pale  and 
disordered,  and  I  thought  that  he  would  swoon,  but  he  recovered. 
"  Humphrey,  never  doubt  that  I  love  you,  too.  But  oh  !  I  love 
Robin,  and  Robin  loves  me." 

"  Yes,  dear — yes,  child — yes,  Grace,"  he  said,  in  broken  ac- 
cents. "  I  understand.  Everything  is  for  Robin — everything 
for  Robin.  Why,  I  might  have  guessed  it !  For  Robin,  the 
straight  and  comely  figure  ;  for  Robin,  the  strength  ;  for  Robin, 
the  inheritance  ;  for  Robin,  happy  love.  For  me,  a  crooked 
body  ;  for  me,  a  feeble  frame  ;  for  me,  the  loss  of  fortune  ;  for 
me,  contempt  and  poverty ;  for  me,  the  loss  of  love — all  for 
Robin— all  for  Robin  !" 

"  Humphrey — surely  thou  wouldst  not  envy  or  be  jealous  of 
Robin  !"  Never  had  I  seen  him  thus  moved,  or  heard  him  tlius 
speak. 

He  made  no  answer  for  a  while.  Then  he  said  slowly  and 
painfully. 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  87 

"Grace,  I  am  ashamed.  Why  sliould  not  Robin  have  all? 
Who  am  I  that  I  should  have  anything  ?  Forgive  me,  child.  I 
have  lived  in  a  paradise  which  fools  create  for  themselves.  1 
have  suffered  myself  to  dream  that  what  I  ardently  desired  was 
possible  and  even  probable.  Forgive  me.  Let  me  be  as  before 
— your  brother.     Will  you  forgive  me,  dear  ?" 

"  Oh,  Humphrey  !  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  forgive." 

"  Nay,  there  is  much  for  me  to  repent  of.  Forget  it,  then,  if 
there  is  nothing  to  forgive." 

"  I  have  forgotten  it  already,  Humphrey." 

"  So — "  he  turned  upon  me  his  grave,  sweet  face  (to  think  of 
it  makes  me  yearn  with  tenderness  and  pity  to  see  that  face 
again) — "  So,  farewell,  fond  dream !  Do  not  think,  my  dear, 
that  I  envy  Robin,  'Twas  a  sweet  dream !  Yet,  I  pray  that 
Heaven  in  wrath  may  forget  me  if  ever  I  suffer  this  passion  of 
envy  to  hurt  my  cousin  Robin  or  thyself !" 

So  saying,  he  burst  from  me  with  distraction  in  his  face.  Poor 
Humphrey  !  Alas  !  when  I  look  back  and  consider  this  day, 
there  is  a  doubt  which  haunts  me.  Always  had  I  loved  Robin : 
that  is  most  true.  But  I  had  always  loved  Humphrey  :  that  is 
most  true.  What  if  it  had  been  Humphrey  instead  of  Robin 
who  had  arisen  in  the  early  morning  to  find  his  sweetheart  in 
the  garden  when  the  dew  was  yet  upon  the  g>ass  ? 


CHAPTER  XHI, 

ONE    DAY, 

In  times  of  great  sorrow  the  godly  person  ought  to  look  for- 
ward to  the  never-ending  joy  ana  happiness  that  will  follow  this 
short  life.  Yet  we  still  look  backward  to  the  happy  time  that 
is  past  and  can  never  come  again.  And  then  how  happy  does 
it  seem  to  liave  been  in  comparison  with  present  affliction  ! 

It  pleased  Heaven  after  many  trials  to  restore  my  earthly  hap- 
piness, at  least,  in  its  principal  part,  Avhich  is  earthly  love. 
Some  losses — grievous  and  lamentable — there  were  which  could 
not  be  restored.  Yet  for  a  long  time  I  had  no  other  comfort 
(apart  from  that  hope  which  I  trust  was  never  suffered  to  harm 
me)  than  the  recollection  of  a  single  day  from  dewy  morn  till 


88  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

dusky  eve.  I  began  that  day  witli  the  sweetest  joy  that  a  girl 
can  ever  experience — namely,  the  return  of  her  lover  and  the 
happiness  of  learning  that  he  loves  her  more  than  ever,  and  the 
knowledge  that  her  heart  hath  gone  forth  from  her  and  is  wholly 
his.  To  such  a  girl  the  woods  and  fields  become  the  very 
Garden  of  Eden ;  the  breath  of  the  wind  is  as  the  voice  of  the 
Lord  blessing  another  Eve ;  the  very  showers  are  the  tears  of 
gladness  and  gratitude ;  the  birds  sing  hymns  of  praise ;  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  whisper  words  of  love ;  the  brook  prattles  of 
kisses  ;  the  flowers  offer  incense  ;  the  royal  course  of  the  sun  in 
splendor,  the  glories  of  the  sunrise  and  sunset,  the  twinkling 
stars  of  night,  the  shadows  of  the  flying  clouds,  the  pageant  of 
the  summer  day — these  are  all  prepared  for  that  one  happy  girl 
and  for  her  happy  lover !  Oh,  divine  gift  of  love  !  which  thus 
gives  the  whole  world  with  its  fruits  in  season  to  the  pair !  Nay, 
doth  it  not  create  them  anew  ?  AVhat  was  Adam  without  Eve? 
And  was  not  Eve  created  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  be  a  com- 
panion to  the  man  ? 

I  say,  then,  that  this  day,  when  Robin  took  me  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  me — not  as  he  had  done  when  we  parted  and  I  was 
still  a  child,  but  with  the  fervent  kiss  of  a  lover — was  the  hap- 
piest day  in  all  my  life.  I  say  that  I  have  never  forgotten  that 
day,  but,  by  recalling  any  point  of  it,  I  remember  all :  how  he 
held  my  hand  and  how  he  made  me  confess  that  I  loved  him ; 
how  we  kissed  and  parted,  to  meet  again.  As  for  poor  Humph- 
rey, I  hardly  gave  him  so  much  as  a  thought  of  pity.  Then, 
how  we  wandered  along  the  brook  hand  in  hand  ! 

"  Never  to  part  again,  my  dear,"  said  the  fond  lover.  "  Here 
will  we  love,  and  here  we  will  die.  Let  Benjamin  become,  if  he 
please,  lord  chancellor,  and  Humphrey  a  great  physician :  they 
will  have  to  live  among  men  in  towns,  where  every  other  man  is 
a  rogue.  We  shall  live  in  this  sweet  country  place,  where  the 
people  may  be  rude  but  they  are  not  knaves.  Why,  in  that 
great  city  of  London,  Avhere  the  merchants  congregate  upon  the 
exchange  and  look  so  full  of  dignity  and  wisdom,  each  man  is 
thinking  all  the  time  that,  if  he  fail  to  overreach  his  neighbor, 
that  neighbor  will  overreach  him,  AVho  would  live  such  a  life 
when  he  can  pass  it  in  the  fields  with  such  a  companion  as  my 
Grace  ?" 

The  pleasures  of  London  had  only  increased  his  thirst  for  the 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  89 

country  life.  Surely,  never  was  seen  a  swain  more  truly  rustic 
in  all  his  thouglits  !  The  fine  ladies  at  the  playhouse,  with  their 
painted  fans,  made  him  think  of  one  who  wore  a  russet  frock  in 
Somersetshire,  and  did  not  paint  her  sweet  face — this  was  the 
way  he  talked.  The  plays  they  acted  could  never  even  be  read, 
much  less  witnessed,  by  that  dear  girl — so  full  of  wickedness 
they  were.  At  the  assemblies  the  ladies  were  jealous  of  each 
other,  and  had  scornful  looks  when  one  seemed  preferred ;  at 
the  taverns  the  men  drank  and  bellowed  songs  and  quarrelled  ; 
in  ihe  streets  they  fought  and  took  the  wall  and  swaggered ; 
there  was  nothing  but  fighting  among  the  baser  sort  with  horrid 
imprecations ;  at  the  coffee-house  the  politicians  argued  and 
quarrelled.  Nay,  in  the  very  churches  the  sermons  were  politi- 
cal arguments,  and  while  the  clergyman  read  his  discourse  the 
gallants  ogled  the  ladies.     All  this  and  more  he  told  me. 

To  hear  my  boy,  one  would  think  there  was  nothing  in  Lon- 
don but  what  was  wicked  and  odious.  No  doubt  it  is  a  wicked 
place,  where  many  men  live  together ;  those  who  are  wicked 
easily  find  each  other  out,  and  are  encouraged  in  their  wicked- 
ness. Yet  there  must  be  many  honest  and  God-fearing  persons, 
otherwise  the  judgment  of  Heaven  would  again  fall  upon  that 
city  as  it  did  in  the  time  of  plague  and  in  the  great  fire. 

"  My  pretty  Puritan,"  said  Robin,  "  I  am  now  come  away  from 
that  place,  and  I  hope  never  to  see  it  again.  Oh !  native  hills, 
I  salute  you !  Oh !  woods  and  meadows,  I  have  returned,  to 
wander  again  in  your  delightful  shade."  Then,  which  was  un- 
usual in  my  boy  and  would  have  better  become  Mr.  Boscorel  or 
Humphrey,  he  began  to  repeat  verses.  I  knew  not  that  he  had 
ever  learned  any : 

"  As  I  range  these  spacious  fields, 
Feast  on  all  that  nature  yields ; 
Everything  inspires  delight, 
Charms  my  smell,  my  taste,  my  sight ; 
Every  rural  sound  I  hear 
Soothes  my  soul  and  tunes  my  ear." 

I  do  not  know  where  Robin  found  these  verses,  but  as  he  re- 
peated them,  waving  his  arm  around,  I  thought  that  Humphrey 
himself  never  made  sweeter  lines. 

He  then  told  me  how  Himiphrey  would  certainly  become 
the  most  learned  physician  of  the  time,  and  that  he  was  already 


90  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

master  of  a  polite  and  dignified  manner  which  would  procure 
him  the  patronage  of  the  great  and  the  confidence  of  all.  It' 
was  pleasant  to  hear  him  praise  his  cousin  without  jealousy  or 
envy.  To  be  sure,  he  knew  not  then — though  afterwaids  I  told 
liim — that  Humphrey  was  his  rival.  Even  had  he  known  this, 
such  was  the  candor  of  my  Robin  and  the  integrity  of  his  soul 
that  he  would  have  praised  him  even  more  loudly. 

One  must  not  repeat  more  of  the  kind  and  lovely  things  that 
the  dear  boy  said  while  we  strolled  together  by  the  brookside. 

While  we  walked — 'twas  in  the  forenoon,  after  Humphrey's 
visit — Sir  Christopher,  his  grandfather,  in  his  best  coat  and  his 
gold-laced  hat  which  he  commonly  kept  for  church,  and  accom- 
panied by  madam,  walked  from  the  manor-house  through  the 
village  till  they  came  to  our  cottage.  Then,  with  great  ceremony, 
they  entered.  Sir  Christopher  bowing  low  and  madam  dropping 
a  deep  courtesy  to  my  mother,  who  sat  humbly  at  her  wheel. 

"  Madam,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  we  would,  with  your  per- 
mission, say  a  few  words  with  the  learned  Dr.  Eykin  and  your- 
self." 

My  father,  who  had  now  returned  and  was  in  his  room,  came 
forth  when  he  was  called.  His  face  had  recovered  something 
of  its  serenity,  but  his  eyes  were  still  troubled.  Madam  sat 
down  ;  but  Sir  Christopher  and  my  father  stood. 

"  Sir,"  said  his  honor,  "  I  will  proceed  straight  to  the  point. 
My  grandson  desires  to  marry  your  daughter.  Robin  is  a  good 
lad ;  not  a  scholar  if  you  will ;  for  his  religion,  the  root  of  the 
matter  is  in  him ;  for  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  I  will  answer ; 
for  his  habit  of  life,  he  hath,  so  far  as  we  can  learn,  acquired  no 
vile  vices  of  the  city — he  doth  neither  drink  nor  gamble,  nor 
waste  his  health  and  strength  in  riotous  living;  and  for  his 
means,  they  are  my  own.  All  that  I  have  will  be  his,  'Tis 
no  great  estate,  but  'twill  serve  him  as  it  hath  served  me.  Dr. 
Eykin,  the  boy's  mother  and  I  have  come  to  ask  your  daughter 
in  marriage.  We  know  her  worth,  and  we  are  well  satisfied 
that  our  boy  hath  made  so  good  and  wise  a  choice." 

"  They  were  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  when  the  Flood 
came ;  they  will  be  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  in  the  great 
day  of  the  Lord,"  said  my  father. 

"  Yes,  gossip ;  but  that  is  no  reason  why  they  should  not  be 
marrvino-  and  giving  in  marriage." 


"  Then,  with  great  ceremony,  they  entered.  Sir  Chridvphi  r  buu-utfj  low  and 
madam  dropping  a  deep  courtesy  to  my  mother,  who  sat  humbly  at  her  wheel' 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FHEEUOM.  91 

"  You  ask  my  consent  ?"  said  my  father.  "  This  surprises 
me.  The  child  is  too  young :  she  is  not  yet  of  marriageable 
age — " 

"  Husband,  she  is  nigh  upon  her  twentieth  birthday !" 

"  I  thought  she  had  been  but  twelve  or  thereabouts !  My 
consent?  Why,  Sir  Christopher,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  this 
is  great  condescension  on  your  part  to  take  a  penniless  girl.  I 
looked,  I  suppose,  to  the  marriage  of  my  daughter  some  time — 
perhaps  to  a  farmer — yet — yet,  we  are  told  that  a  virtuous 
woman  hath  a  price  far  above  rubies ;  and  that  it  is  she  who 
buildeth  up  the  house,  and  we  arc  nowhere  told  that  she  must 
bring  her  husband  a  purse  of  gold.  Sir  Christopher,  it  would 
be  the  blackest  ingratitude  in  us  to  deny  you  anything  even  if 
this  thing  were  against  the  mind  of  our  daughter." 

"  It  is  not — it  is  not,"  said  my  mother, 

"  Wherefore,  seeing  that  the  young  man  is  a  good  man  as 
youths  go,  though  in  the  matter  of  the  syntax  he  hath  yet  much 
to  learn ;  and  that  his  heart  is  disposed  towards  religion,  I  am  ' 
right  glad  that  he  should  take  our  girl  to  wife." 

"  Bravely  said !"  cried  Sir  Christopher.  "  Hands  upon  it, 
man !  And  we  will  have  a  merry  wedding.  But  to-day  I  bid 
you  both  to  come  and  feast  with  us.  We  will  have  holiday  and 
rejoicing." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  father,  "  we  Avill  feast ;  though  to-morrow 
comes  the  Deluge."  I  know  now  what  he  meant,  but  at  that 
time  we  knew  not,  and  it  seemed  to  his  honor  a  poor  way  of 
rejoicing  at  the  return  of  the  boys  and  the  betrothal  of  his 
daughter  thus  to  be  foretelling  woes.  "  The  vision  of  the  plumb- 
line  is  before  mine  eyes,"  my  father  went  on.  "  Is  the  land 
able  to  bear  all  this  ?  We  talk  of  feasting  and  of  marriages. 
Yet  a  few  days,  or  perhaps  already.  But  we  will  rejoice  together, 
my  old  friend  and  benefactor — we  will  rejoice  together."  With 
these  words  he  turned  and  went  back  to  his  room,  and,  after 
some  tears  with  my  mother,  madam  went  home  and  Sir  Chris- 
topher with  her.  But  in  honor  to  the  day  he  kept  on  his  best 
coat. 

Robin  suffered  me  to  go  home,  but  only  that  I  might  put  on 
my  best  frock  (I  had  but  two)  and  make  my  hair  straight,  which 
had  been  blown  into  curls,  as  was  the  way  with  my  hair.  And 
then,  learning  from  my  mother  with  the  utmost  satisfaction  what 


92  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

Jiad  passed,  he  led  me  by  the  hand,  as  if  I  were  already  his 
bride,  and  so  to  the  manor-house,  where  first  Sir  Christopher 
saluted  me  with  great  kindness,  calling  me  his  dear  grand- 
daughter, and  saying  that  next  to  Robin's  safe  return  he  asked 
for  nothing  more  than  to  see  me  Robin's  wife.  And  madam 
kissed  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  said  that  she  could  desire 
nothing  better  for  her  son,  and  that  she  was  sure  I  should  do 
my  best  endeavors  to  make  the  boy  happy.  Then  Humphrey, 
as  quietly  as  if  he  had  not  also  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  kissed 
my  hand,  and  wished  me  joy ;  and  Mr.  Boscorel  also  kissed  me, 
and  declared  that  Robin  ought  to  be  the  happiest  dog  on  earth. 
And  so  we  sat  down  to  our  feast. 

The  conversation  at  dinner  was  graver  than  the  occasion  de- 
manded. For  though  our  travellers  continually  answered  ques- 
tions about  the  foreign  lands  and  peoples  they  had  seen,  yet  the 
subject  returned  always  to  the  condition  of  the  country,  and  to 
what  would  happen. 

After  dinner  we  sat  in  the  garden,  and  the  gentlemen  began 
to  talk  of  right  divine  and  of  non-resistance,  and  here  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  Mr.  Boscorel  was  looking  on  as  from  an  eminence 
apart.  For  when  he  had  once  stated  the  texts  and  arguments 
upon  which  the  High  Church  party  do  most  rely  he  retired  and 
made  no  further  objections,  listening  in  silence  while  my  father 
held  forth  upon  the  duty  of  rising  against  wicked  princes.  At 
last,  however,  being  challenged  to  reply  by  Humphrey,  Mr.  Bos- 
corel then  made  answer. 

"  The  doctrine  that  subjects  may  or  may  not  rebel  against 
their  sovereign  is  one  which  I  regard  with  interest  so  long  as  it 
remains  a  question  of  logic  and  argument  only.  Unfortunately, 
the  times  are  such  that  we  may  be  called  upon  to  make  a  prac- 
tical application  of  it :  in  which  case  there  may  follow  once  more 
civil  war,  with  hard  knocks  on  both  sides,  and  much  loss  of 
things  temporal.  Wherefore  to  my  learned  brother's  arguments, 
which  I  admit  to  be  plausible,  I  will,  for  the  present,  offer  no 
reply,  except  to  pray  Heaven  that  the  occasion  may  not  arise  of 
converting  a  disputed  doctrine  into  a  rule  of  conduct." 

Alas  !  even  while  he  spoke  the  messenger  was  speeding  swift- 
ly towards  us  who  was  to  call  upon  all  present  to  take  a  side. 

The  question  is  now,  I  hope,  decided  forever :  but  many  men 
bad  first  to  die.     It  was  not  decided  then,  but  three  years  later, 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  93 

when  King  AVilliam  cut  the  knot,  and,  with  the  applause  of  the 
nation,  pulled  down  his  father-iu-law  and  mounted  the  throne 
himself  with  his  gracious  consort.  We  are  agreed,  at  last,  that 
kings,  like  judges,  generals,  and  all  great  oiBcers  of  state,  are  to 
hold  their  offices  in  good  behavior.  If  they  enter  into  machina- 
tions against  the  liberty  of  the  people  and  desert  the  national  re- 
ligion, they  must  descend,  and  let  another  take  their  place.  But 
before  that  right  could  be  established  for  the  country,  sti'cams 
of  blood  must  first  flow. 

AVhile  they  talked,  we — I  mean  madam,  my  mother,  and  my- 
self— sat  and  listened.  But  my  mind  was  full  of  another  sub- 
ject, and  I  heard  but  little  of  what  was  said,  noting  chiefly  the 
fiery  ardor  of  my  father  and  the  careless  grace  of  Mr.  Boscorel. 

Presently  my  father,  who  was  never  easy  in  the  company  of 
Mr.  Boscorel — (so  oil  and  water  will  not  agree  to  fill  a  cup  in 
friendship) — and,  besides,  being  anxious  to  rejoin  the  society  of 
his  books,  arose  and  went  away,  and  with  him  my  mother — he, 
in  his  ragged  cassock,  who  was  a  learned  scholar ;  she,  in  her 
plain  homespun,  was  a  gentlewoman  by  birth.  Often  had  I 
thought  of  our  poverty  with  bitterness.  But  now  it  was  with  a 
softened  heart  that  I  saw  them  walk  side  by  side  across  the 
lawns.  For  now  I  understood  plainly — and  for  the  first  time — 
how  love  can  strengthen  and  console.  My  mother  was  poor, 
but  she  was  not  therefore  unhappy. 

Mr.  Boscorel  also  rose  and  went  away  with  Humphrey.  They 
went  to  talk  of  things  more  interesting  to  the  rector  than  the 
doctrine  of  non-resistance  ;  of  painting,  namely,  and  statuary 
and  models.  And  when  we  presently  walked  from  the  rectory 
gardens  Ave  heard  a  most  gladsome  scraping  of  fiddle-strings 
within,  which  showed  that  the  w^orthy  man  was  making  the  most 
of  Humphrey's  return. 

AYhen  Sir  Christopher  had  taken  his  pipe  of  tobacco  he  fell 
asleep.  Robin  and  I  walked  in  the  garden  and  renewed  our 
vows.  Needs  must  that  I  should  tell  him  all  that  I  had  done  or 
thought  since  he  went  away.  As  if  the  simple  thoughts  of  a 
country-maid  should  be  of  interest  to  a  man !  Yet  he  seemed 
pleased  to  question  and  to  listen,  and  presently  broke  into  a 
rapture,  swearing  that  he  was  in  love  with  an  angel.  Young 
lovers  may,  it  is  feared,  fall  into  grievous  sin  by  permitting 
themselves  these  extravagances  of  speech  and  thought ;  yet  it 


94  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

is  hard  to  keep  tbem  sober,  and  besides  (because  every  sin  in 
man  meetetb  -with  its  correspondent  in  woman),  if  the  lover  be 
extravagant,  the  maiden  takes  pleasure  in  his  extravagance.  To 
call  a  mortal,  full  of  imperfections,  an  angel,  is  little  short  of 
blasphemy.  Yet  I  heard  it  with,  I  confess,  a  secret  pleasure. 
We  know  ourselves  and  the  truth  concerning  ourselves ;  we  do 
not  deceive  ourselves  as  to  our  imperfections  ;  yet  we  are  pleased 
that  our  lovers  should  so  speak  and  think  of  us  as  if  we  were 
angels  indeed. 

Robin  told  me,  presently  ceasing  his  extravagances  for  a  while, 
that  he  was  certain  something  violent  was  on  foot.  To  be  sure, 
everybody  expected  so  much.  He  said,  moreover,  that  he  be- 
lieved Humphrey  had  certain  knowledge  of  what  was  going  to 
happen  ;  that  before  they  left  the  Low  Countries  Humphrey 
had  been  present  at  a  meeting  of  the  exiles  in  Rotterdam,  where 
it  was  well  known  that  Lord  Argyle's  expedition  was  resolved 
upon  ;  that  he  had  been  much  engaged  in  London  after  their  re- 
turn, and  had  paid  many  visits,  the  nature  of  which  he  kept 
secret :  and  that  on  the  road  there  was  not  a  town  and  scarcely 
a  village  where  Humphrey  had  not  some  one  to  visit. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  Humphrey  is  slight  as  to  stature  and 
strength,  but  he  carries  a  stout  heart.  There  is  no  man  more 
bitter  against  the  king  than  he,  and  none  more  able  if  his  coun- 
sels were  listened  to.  Monmouth,  I  am  certain,  purposes  to  head 
an  expedition  into  England  like  that  of  Lord  Argyll  in  Scotland. 
The  history  of  England  hath  many  instances  of  such  successful 
attempts.  King  Stephen,  King  Henry  IV.,  King  Henry  VH., 
are  all  examples.  If  Monmouth  lands,  Humphrey  will  join  him, 
I  am  sure.     And  I,  my  dear — "  he  paused. 

"And  you  too,  Robin?  .  Oh  !  must  you  too  go  forth  to  fight? 
And  yet,  if  the  duke  doth  head  a  rising  all  the  world  would 
follow.  Oh !  to  drive  away  the  papist  king  and  restore  our 
liberty  ?" 

"  My  dear,  I  will  do  what  my  grandfather  approves.  If  it  be 
my  duty  to  go,  he  will  send  me  foi'th." 

I  had  almost  forgotten  to  say  that  madam  took  me  to  her  own 
chamber,  where  she  opened  a  box  and  pulled  out  a  gold  chain, 
very  fine.  This  she  hung  about  my  neck  and  bade  me  sit  down, 
and  gave  me  some  sound  advice,  reminding  me  that  woman  v>'as 
the  weaker  vessel,  and  should  look  to  her  husband  not  only  to 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  95 

love  and  clierish  her,  but  also  to  prevent  her  from  falling  into 
certain  grievous  sins,  as  of  temper,  deceitfulness,  vanity,  and  the 
like,  to  which  the  weaker  nature  is  ever  prone.  Many  other 
tilings  she  said,  being  a  good  and  virtuous  woman,  but  I  pass 
them  over. 

After  supper  we  went  again  into  the  garden,  the  weather  being 
warm  and  fine.  The  sun  went  down,  but  the  sky  was  full  of 
light,  though  it  was  past  nine  o'clock  and  time  for  me  to  go 
home  and  to  bed.  Yet  we  lingered.  The  birds  had  gone  to 
sleep ;  there  was  no  whisper  of  the  wind ;  the  village  was  in 
silence.  And  Robin  was  whispering  in  my  ear.  I  remember — 
I  remember  the  very  tones  of  his  voice,  which  were  low  and 
sweet.  I  remember  the  words  he  said :  "  Sweet  love  !  Sweet 
love !  How  could  I  live  so  long  without  thee  ?"  I  remember 
my  swelling  heart  and  my  glowing  cheeks.  Oh!  Robin  — 
Robin  !  Oh !  poor  heart  ?  poor  maid !  The  memory  of  this 
one  day  was  nearly  all  thou  hadst  to  feed  upon  for  so  long — so 
Ions:  a  time ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Suddenly  we  heard  footsteps,  as  of  those  who  are  running, 
and  my  father's  voice  speaking  loud. 

"  Sing,  O  daughter  of  Zion  !  Shout,  O  Israel !  Be  glad  and 
rejoice  with  all  thy  heart !" 

'^  Now,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,"  cried  Sir  Christopher,  "  what 
meaneth  this  ?" 

"  The  arm  of  the  Lord  !     The  deliverance  of  Israel !" 

He  burst  upon  us,  dragging  a  man  with  him  by  the  arm.  In 
the  twilight  I  could  only  see,  at  first,  that  it  was  a  broad,  thick- 
set man.  But  my  father's  brave  form  looked  taller  as  he  waved 
his  arms  and  cried  aloud.  Had  he  been  clad  in  a  sheepskin,  he 
would  have  resembled  one  of  those  ancient  prophets  whose  words 
were  always  in  his  mouth. 

"Good  friend,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "what  meaneth  these 
cries  ?     Whom  have  we  here  !" 

Then  the  man  with  my  father  stepped  forward  and  took  off 


96  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

his  hat.  Why,  I  knew  him  at  once ;  though  it  was  ten  years 
since  I  had  seen  him  last !  'Twas  my  brother  Barnaby — none 
other — come  home  again.  He  was  now  a  great  strong  man — 
a  stouter  have  I  never  seen,  though  he  was  somewhat  under  the 
middle  height,  broad  in  the  shoulders,  and  thick  of  chest.  Beside 
him  Robin,  though  reasonable  in  breadth,  showed  like  a  slender 
sapling.  But  he  had  still  the  same  good-natured  face,  though 
now  much  broader.  It  needed  no  more  than  the  first  look  to 
know  my  brother  Barnaby  again. 

"Barnaby,"  I  cried,  "Barnaby,  hast  thou  forgotten  me?"  I 
caught  one  of  his  great  hands — never,  surely,  were  there  bigger 
hands  than  Barnaby's  !     "  Hast  thou  forgotten  me  ?" 

"  AVliy,"  he  said,  slowly — 'twas  ever  a  boy  slow  of  speech  and 
of  understanding — "  belike,  'tis  sister."  He  kissed  my  fore- 
head. "  It  is  sister,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  tasting  a  cup  of  ale 
and  was  pronouncing  on  its  quality.  "  How  dost  thou,  sister  ? 
Bravely,  I  hope.  Thou  art  grown,  sister.  I  have  seen  my  moth- 
er, and — and — she  does  bravely,  too ;  though  I  left  her  crying. 
'Tis  their  way,  the  happier  they  be." 

"Barnaby?"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "is  it  thou,  scapegrace? 
Where  hast  thou —  But  first  tell  us  what  has  happened. 
Briefly,  man." 

"  In  two  words,  sir :  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  landed  the  day 
before  yesterday  at  Lyme-Regis  with  my  Lord  Grey  and  a  com- 
pany of  a  hundred — of  whom  I  was  one." 

The  duke  had  landed  !  Then  what  Robin  expected  had  come 
to  pass  !  and  my  brother  Barnaby  was  with  the  insurgents  !  My 
heart  beat  fast. 

"  The  Duke  of  Monmouth  hath  landed  !"  Sir  Christopher  re- 
peated, and  sat  down  again,  as  one  who  knows  not  what  may  be 
the  meaning  of  the  news. 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  duke  hath  landed.  We  left  Holland  on  the  24th 
of  May,  and  we  made  the  coast  at  Lyme  at  daybreak  on  Thursday 
the  11th.  'Tis  now,  I  take  it,  Saturday.  The  duke  had  with 
him  on  board  ship  Lord  Grey,  Mr.  Andrew  Fletcher  of  Saltoun, 
Mr.  Heywood  Dare  of  Taunton — " 

"  I  know  the  man,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  for  an  impudent, 
loud-tongued  fellow." 

"  Perhaps  he  was,  sir,"  said  Barnaby,  gravely.  "  Perhaps  he 
was,  but  now — " 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  97 

"  How  '  was '  ?" 

*'  He  was  shot  on  Thursday  evening  by  Mr.  Fletcher  for  offer- 
ing him  violence  with  a  cane,  and  is  now  dead." 

"  'Tis  a  bad  beginning.     Go  on,  Barnaby." 

"  The  duke  had  also  Mr.  Ferguson,  Colonel  Venner,  Mr.  Cham- 
berlain, and  others  whom  I  cannot  remember.  First  we  set  Mr. 
Dare  and  Mr.  Chamberlain  ashore  at  Seatown,  whence  they  were 
to  carry  intelligence  of  the  rising  to  the  duke's  friends.  The 
duke  landed  at  seven  o'clock  with  his  company,  in  seven  boats. 
First,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and  prayed  aloud.  Then  he  drew  his 
sword,  and  we  all  marched  after  to  the  market-place,  where  he 
raised  his  flag  and  caused  the  declaration  to  be  read.  Here  it 
is,  your  honor.  He  lugged  out  a  copy  of  the  declaration,  which 
Sir  Christopher  put  aside,  saying  that  he  would  read  it  in  the 
morning. 

"  Then  we  tossed  our  hats  and  shouted  '  A  Monmouth  !  A 
Monmouth !'  Sixty  stout  young  fellows  'listed  on  the  spot. 
Then  we  divided  our  forces,  and  began  to  land  the  cannon — 
four  pretty  pieces  as  you  could  wish  to  see — and  the  arms,  of 
which  I  doubt  if  we  have  enough,  and  the  powder — two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  barrels.  The  duke  lay  on  Thursday  night  at  the 
George.  Next  day,  before  dawn,  the  country  people  began  flock- 
ing in." 

"  "What  gentlemen  have  come  in  ?" 

"  I  know  not,  sir — my  duty  was  most  of  the  day  on  board. 
In  the  evening  I  received  leave  to  ride  home,  and,  indeed.  Sir 
Christopher,  to  carry  the  duke's  declaration  to  yourself.  And 
now  we  shall  be  well  rid  of  the  king,  the  pope,  and  the  devil." 

"  Because,"  said  my  father,  solemnly — "  because  with  lies  ye 
have  made  the  hearts  of  the  righteous  sad  whom  I  have  not 
made  sad." 

"  And  Avhat  doest  thou  among  this  goodly  company.  Friend 
Barnaby  ?" 

"  I  am  to  be  a  captain  in  one  of  the  regiments,"  said  J>arna- 
by,  grinning  with  pride ;  "  though  a  sailor,  yet  can  I  fight 
with  the  best.  My  colonel  is  Mr.  Holmes ;  and  my  major,  Mr. 
I'arsons.  On  board  the  frigate  I  was  master,  and  navigated 
her." 

"  There  will  be  knocks,  Barnaby  ;  knocks,  I  doubt." 

"  By  your  honor's  leave,  I  have  been  where  knocks  were  flying 
5  G 


98  FOE    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

for  ten  years,  and  I  will  take  my  sliare,  remembering  still  the 
treatment  of  my  father  and  the  poverty  of  my  mother." 

"  It  is  rebellion,  Barnaby  ! — rebellion  !" 

"  Why,  sir,  Oliver  Cromwell  was  a  rebel.  And  your  honor 
fought  in  the  army  of  the  Earl  of  Essex — and  what  was  he  but 
a  rebel  ?" 

I  wondered  to  hear  my  brother  speak  with  so  much  boldness, 
who  ten  years  before  had  bowed  low  and  pulled  his  hair  in  pres- 
ence of  his  honor.  Yet  Sir  Christopher  seemed  to  take  this 
boldness  in  good  part. 

"  Barnaby,"  he  said,  "  thou  art  a  stout  and  proper  lad,  and  I 
doubt  not  thy  courage — nay,  I  see  it  in  thy  face,  which  hath 
resolution  in  it,  and  yet  is  modest ;  no  ruffler  or  boaster  art  thou, 
Friend  Barnaby.  Yet — yet — if  rebellion  fail — even  rebellion  in 
a  just  cause — then  those  who  rise  lose  their  lives  in  vain,  and 
the  cause  is  lost,  until  better  times."  This  he  said  as  one  who 
speaketh  to  himself.  I  saw  him  look  upon  his  grandson,  "  The 
king  is — a  papist,"  he  said,  "  that  is  most  true.  A  papist 
should  not  be  suffered  to  rule  this  country.  Yet  to  rise  in  re- 
bellion !  Have  a  care,  lad !  What  if  the  time  be  not  yet  ripe  ? 
How  know  we  who  will  join  the  duke  ?" 

"  The  people  are  flocking  to  his  standard  by  thousands,"  said 
Barnaby.  "  When  I  rode  away  last  night  the  duke's  secretaries 
were  writing  down  their  names  as  fast  as  they  could  be  entered ; 
they  were  landing  the  arms  and  already  exercising  the  recruits. 
And  such  a  spirit  they  show,  sir,  it  would  do  your  heart  good 
only  once  to  witness  !" 

Now,  as  I  looked  at  Barnaby,  I  became  aware  that  he  was  not 
only  changed  in  appearance,  but  that  he  was  also  very  finely 
dressed — namely,  in  a  scarlet  coat  and  a  sword  with  a  silken 
sash,  with  laced  ruffles,  a  gold-laced  hat,  a  great  wig,  white 
breeches,  and  a  flowered  waistcoat.  In  the  light  of  day,  as  I 
afterwards  discovered,  there  were  stains  of  wine  visible  upon 
the  coat,  and  the  ruffles  were  torn,  and  the  waistcoat  had  marks 
upon  it  as  of  tar.  One  doth  not,  to  be  sure,  expect  in  the  sail- 
ing-master of  a  frigate  the  same  neatness  as  in  a  gallant  of  St. 
James's.     Yet  our  runaway  lad  must  have  prospered. 

"  What  doth  the  duke  intend  ?"  Sir  Christopher  asked  him. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  know  not.  'Tis  said  by  some  that  he  will 
raise  the  West  Country  ;  and  by  some  that  he  will  march  north 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  99 

into  Cheshire,  where  he  hath  many  friends ;  and  by  others  that 
he  will  march  upon  London,  and  call  upon  all  good  Protestants 
to  rise  and  join  him.  We  look  to  have  an  army  of  twenty  thou- 
sand within  a  week.  As  for  the  king,  it  is  doubted  whether  he 
can  raise  a  paltry  five  thousand  to  meet  us.  Courage,  dad  " — 
he  dared  to  call  his  father,  the  Rev.  Comfort  Eykin,  Doctor  of 
Divinity,  "  dad !" — and  he  clapped  him  lustily  upon  the  shoul- 
der ;  "  thou  shalt  mount  the  pulpit  yet ;  ay,  of  Westminster 
Abbey  if  it  so  please  you  !" 

Ilis  father  paid  no  heed  to  this  conversation,  being  wrapped 
in  his  own  thoughts. 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "what  to  think,  the  news 
is  sudden.     And  yet — and  yet — " 

"  We  waste  time,"  cried  my  father,  stamping  his  foot.  "  Oh  I 
we  waste  the  time  talking.  Wliat  helps  it  to  talk  ?  Every  hon- 
est man  must  now  be  up  and  doing.  Why,  it  is  a  plain  duty 
laid  upon  us.  The  finger  of  Heaven  is  visible,  I  say,  in  this. 
Out  of  the  very  sins  of  Charles  Stuart  hath  the  instrument  for 
the  destruction  of  his  race  been  forged.  A  plain  duty,  I  say. 
As  for  me,  I  must  preach  and  exhort.  As  for  my  son,  who  was 
dead  and  yet  liveth" — he  laid  his  hand  upon  Barnaby's  shoul- 
der— "  time  was  when  I  prayed  that  he  might  become  a  godly 
minister  of  God's  Word.  Now  I  perceive  clearly  that  the  Lord 
hath  ways  of  his  own.  My  son  shall  fight  and  I  shall  preach. 
Perhaps  he  will  rise  and  become  another  Cromwell !" — Barnaby 
grinned. 

"  Sir,"  said  my  father,  turning  hotly  upon  his  honor,  "  I  per- 
ceive that  thou  art  lukewarm.  If  the  cause  be  the  Lord's,  what 
matter  for  the  chances  ?  The  issue  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord. 
As  for  me  and  my  household,  we  will  serve  the  Lord.  Yea,  I 
freely  offer  myself,  and  my  son,  and  my  wife,  and  my  daughter 
— even  my  tender  daughter — to  the  cause  of  the  Lord.  Young 
men  and  maidens,  old  men  and  children,  the  voice  of  the  Lord 
calleth !" 

Nobody  made  reply  ;  my  father  looked  before  him,  as  if  he 
saw  in  the  twilight  of  the  summer  night  a  vision  of  what  was  to 
follow.  His  face,  as  he  gazed,  changed.  His  eyes,  which  were 
fierce  and  fiery,  softened.  His  lips  smiled.  Then  he  turned  his 
face  and  looked  upon  each  of  us  in  turn — upon  his  son  and  upon 
his  wife  and  upon  me,  upon  Robin,  and  upon  Sir  Christopher. 


100  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  he  said,  "  the  will  of  the  Lord.  Why,  what 
though  the  end  be  violent  death  to  me,  and  to  all  of  us  ruin  and 
disaster  ?  AVe  do  but  share  the  afflictions  foretold  in  the  vision 
of  the  basket  of  summer  fruit.  What  is  death  ?  What  is  the  loss 
of  earthly  things  compared  with  what  shall  follow  to  those  who 
obey  the  voice  that  calls  ?  Children,  let  us  be  up  and  doing. 
As  for  me,  I  shall  have  a  season  of  freedom  before  I  die.  For 
twenty-five  years  have  I  been  muzzled  or  compelled  to  whisper 
and  mutter  in  corners  and  hiding-places.  I  have  been  a  dumb 
dog,  I,  whose  heart  was  full  and  overflowing  with  the  sweet 
and  precious  Word  of  God  ;  I,  to  whom  it  is  not  life,  but  death, 
to  sit  in  silence  !  Now  I  shall  deliver  my  soul  before  I  die. 
Sirs,  the  Lord  hath  given  to  every  man  a  weapon  or  two  with 
which  to  fight.  To  me  he  hath  given  an  eye  and  a  tongue  for 
discoursing  and  proclaiming  the  word  of  sacred  doctrine.  I 
have  been  muzzled  —  a  dumb  dog  —  though  sometimes  I  have 
been  forced  to  climb  among  the  hills  and  speak  to  the  bending 
tree-tops.  Now  I  shall  be  free  again,  and  I  will  speak,  and  all 
the  ends  of  the  earth  shall  hear." 

His  eyes  gleamed,  he  panted  and  gasped  and  waved  liis  arms. 

"  As  for  sister,  dad,"  said  Barnaby,  "  she  and  mother  may 
bide  at  home." 

"No,  they  shall  go  with  me.  I  offer  my  wife,  my  son,  my 
daughter,  and  myself  to  the  cause  of  the  Lord." 

"  A  camp  is  but  a  rough  place  for  a  woman,"  said  Barnaby. 

"She  is  offered;  she  is  dedicated;  she  shall  go  with  us." 

I  know  not  what  was  in  his  mind,  or  why  he  wished  that  I 
should  go  with  him,  unless  it  was  a  desire  to  give  everything 
that  he  had — to  hold  back  nothing — to  the  Lord :  therefore  he 
would  give  his  children  as  well  as  himself.  As  for  me,  my  heart 
glowed  to  think  that  I  was  even  worthy  to  join  in  such  a  cause. 
What  could  a  woman  do  ?     But  that  I  should  find  out. 

"  Robin,"  I  whispered,  "  'tis  religion  calls.  If  I  am  to  be 
among  the  followers  of  the  duke,  thou  wilt  not  remain  behind?" 

"  Child" — it  was  my  mother  who  whispered  to  me ;  I  had  not 
seen  her  coming — "  Child,  let  us  obey  him.  Perhaps  it  will  be 
better  for  him  if  we  are  at  his  side.  And  there  is  Barnaby.  But 
we  must  not  be  in  their  way.  We  shaU  find  a  place  to  sit  and 
wait.  Alas !  that  my  son  hath  returned  to  us  only  to  go  fight- 
ing.    We  will  go  with  them,  daughter." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  101 

"  We  sbould  be  better  witbout  women,"  said  Barnaby,  grum- 
bling ;  "  I  would  as  lief  bave  a  woman  on  sbipboard  as  in  tbc 
camp.  To  be  sure,  if  be  bas  set  bis  beart  upon  it — and  tben 
be  will  not  stay  long  in  camp,  wbere  tbe  cursing  of  tbe  men  is 
already  loud  enougb  to  scare  a  preacber  out  of  bis  cassock. 
Dad,  I  say — "  But  my  father  was  fallen  again  into  a  kind  of 
rapture,  and  beard  notbing. 

*'  AVben  doth  tbe  duke  begin  liis  marcb  ?""  he  said,  suddenly. 

'*  I  know  not.     But  we  shall  find  him,  never  fear." 

"  I  must  bave  speech  with  him  at  the  earliest  possible  time. 
Hours  are  precious,  and  we  waste  them — we  waste  them." 

"  Well,  sir,  it  is  bedtime.  To-morrow  we  can  ride ;  unless, 
because  it  is  the  Sabbath,  you  would  choose  to  wait  till  Monday. 
And  as  to  tbe  women,  by  your  leave,  it  is  madness  to  bring 
them  to  a  camp." 

"  Wait  till  Monday  ?  Art  thou  mad,  Barnaby  ?  AVhy,  I  have 
things  to  tell  tbe  duke.  Up !  let  us  ride  all  night.  To-morrow 
is  the  Sabbath,  and  I  will  preach.  Yea — I  will  preach.  My 
soul  longeth — yea,  even  it  fainteth,  for  the  courts  of  the  Lord. 
Quick  !  quick  !  let  us  mount  and  ride  all  night !" 

"  Lads,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  you  are  fresh  from  Holland. 
Knew  you  aught  of  this  ?" 

'*  Sir,"  said  Humphrey,  "  I  have  already  told  Dr.  Eykin  what 
to  expect.  I  knew  that  the  duke  was  coming.  Robin  did  not 
know,  because  I  would  not  drag  him  into  tbe  conspiracy.  I 
knew  that  the  duke  was  coming,  and  that  witbout  delay.  I  have 
myself  had  speech  in  Amsterdam  with  his  grace,  who  comes  to 
restore  the  Protestant  religion  and  to  give  freedom  of  worship 
to  all  good  Protestant  people.  His  friends  bave  promises  of 
support  everywhere.  Indeed,  sir,  I  think  that  tbe  expedition  is 
well  planned,  and  is  certain  of  support.  Success  is  in  the  hands 
of  the  Lord  ;  but  we  do  not  expect  that  there  will  be  any  serious 
opposition.  With  submission,  sir,  I  am  under  promise  to  join 
the  duke.  I  came  over  in  advance  to  warn  his  friends,  as  I  rode 
from  London,  of  his  approach.  Thousands  are  waiting  in  read- 
iness for  him.  But,  sir,  of  all  this,  I  repeat,  Robin  knew  noth- 
ing. I  bave  been  for  three  months  in  the  councils  of  those  who 
desire  to  drive  forth  the  popish  king,  but  -Robin  have  I  kept  in 
tbe  dark." 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Robin,  "  am  not  I  a  Protestant  ?" 


102  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    NIGHT    AND    MORNING    AT    LYME    REGIS. 

When  I  read  of  men  possessed  by  some  spirit — that  is  to 
say,  compelled  to  go  hither  and  thither  where,  but  for  the  spirit, 
they  would  not  go,  and  to  say  things  which  they  would  not 
otherwise  have  said — I  think  of  our  midnight  ride  to  Lyme, 
and  of  my  father  then,  and  of  the  three  weeks'  madness  which 
followed.  It  was  some  spirit — whether  of  good  or  evil,  I  cannot 
say,  and  I  dare  not  so  much  as  to  question — which  seized  him. 
That  he  hurried  away  to  join  the  duke  on  the  first  news  of  his 
landing,  without  counting  the  cost  or  weighing  the  chances,  is 
easy  to  be  understood.  Like  Humphrey,  he  was  led  by  his 
knowledge  of  the  great  numbers  who  hated  the  Catholic  relig- 
ion to  believe  that  they,  like  himself,  would  rise  with  one  ac- 
cord. He  also  remembered  the  successful  rebellion  against  the 
first  Charles,  and  expected  nothing  less  than  a  repetition  of  that 
success.  This,  I  knew,  was  what  the  exiles  in  Holland  thought 
and  believed.  The  duke,  they  said,  was  the  darling  of  the 
people  ;  he  was  the  Protestant  champion  :  who  would  not  press 
forward  when  he  should  draw  the  sword  ?  But  what  man  in  his 
sober  senses  would  have  dragged  his  wife  and  daughter  with 
him  to  the  godless  riot  of  a  camp  ?  Perhaps  he  wanted  them 
to  share  his  triumph,  to  listen  while  he  moved  the  soldiers  as 
that  ancient  hermit  Peter  moved  the  people  to  the  Holy  Wars  ? 
But  I  know  not.  He  said  that  I  was  to  be,  like  Jephthah's 
daughter,  consecrated  to  the  cause  of  the  Lord  ;  and  what  he 
meant  by  that  I  never  understood. 

He  was  so  eager  to  start  upon  the  journey  that  he  would  not 
wait  a  moment.  The  horses  must  be  saddled  ;  we  must  mount 
and  away.  Note  that  they  were  Sir  Christopher's  horses  which 
we  borrowed  ;  this  also  was  noted  afterwards  for  the  ruin  of 
that  good  old  man,  with  other  particulars  ;  as  that  Monmouth's 
declaration  was  found  in  the  house  (Barnaby  brought  it)  ;  one 


FOR  FAITU  AND  FREEDOM.  103 

of  Monmoutli's  captains,  Barnaby  Eykin  by  name,  had  ridden 
from  Lyme  to  Bradford  in  order  to  sec  liim  ;  he  was  a  friend 
'of  the  preacher  Dr.  Eykin  ;  he  was  grandfather  to  one  of  the 
rebels  and  grand-uncle  to  another  ;  with  many  other  things. 
But  these  were  enough. 

"  Surely,  surely,  friend,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  "  thou  wilt 
not  take  wife  and  daughter  ?  They  cannot  help  the  cause  ;  they 
have  no  place  in  a  camp." 

"  Young  men  and  maidens  :  one  with  another.  Quick  !  we 
waste  the  time." 

"  And  to  ride  all  night,  consider,  man — all  night  long  !" 

"  What  is  a  night  ?    They  will  have  all  eternity  to  rest  in." 

"  He  hath  set  his  heart  upon  it,"  said  my  mother.  "  Let  us 
go ;  a  night's  uneasiness  will  not  do  much  harm.  Let  us  go, 
Sir  Christopher,  without  further  parley." 

"  Go  then,  in  the  name  of  God,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Child, 
give  me  a  kiss."  He  took  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me  on  the 
forehead.  "  Thou  art,  then,"  he  said,  tenderly,  "  devoted  to 
the  Protestant  cause.  Why,  thou  art  already  promised  to  a 
Protestant  since  this  morning  ;  forget  not  that  promise,  child. 
Humphrey  and  Barnaby  will  protect  thee — and — " 

"  Sir,"  said  Robin,  "  by  your  leave,  I  alone  have  the  right  to 
go  with  her  and  to  protect  her." 

"  Nay,  Robin,"  I  said,  "  stay  here  until  Sir  Christopher  him- 
self bids  thee  go.  That  will  be  very  soon.  Remember  thy 
promise.  We  did  not  know,  Robin,  an  hour  ago  that  the 
promise  would  be  claimed  so  soon.  Robin" — for  he  murmured 
— "  I  charge  thee,  remain  at  home  until — " 

"  I  promise  thee,  sweetheart."  But  he  hung  his  head  and 
looked  ashamed. 

Sir  Christopher,  holding  my  hand,  stepped  forth  upon  the 
grass  and  looked  upward  into  the  clear  sky,  where  in  the  trans- 
parent twilight  we  could  see  a  few  stars  twinkling. 

"  This,  Friend  Eykin — this,  Humphrey,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  is 
a  solemn  night  for  all.  No  more  fateful  day  hath  ever  come  to 
any  of  us  ;  no  !  not  that  day  when  I  joined  Hampden's  new 
regiment  and  followed  with  the  army  of  Lord  Essex.  Granted 
that  we  have  a  righteous  cause,  we  know  not  that  our  leader 
hath  in  him  the  root  of  the  matter.  To  rise  against  the  king 
is  a  most  weighty  matter — fatal  if  it  fail,  a  dangerous  precedent 


104  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

if  it  succeed.  Civil  war  is,  of  all  wars,  the  most  grievous  ;  to 
figlit  under  a  leader  who  doth  not  live  after  the  laws  of  God  is, 
methinks,  most  dangerous.  The  duke  hath  lit  a  torch  which 
will  spread  flames  everywhere — " 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  the  Lord  which  calleth  us  !"  my  father  in- 
terrupted.    "  To-morrow  I  shall  speak  again  to  God's  elect," 

"  Sir,"  said  Humphrey,  very  seriously,  "  I  pray  you  think  not 
that  this  enterprise  hath  been  rashly  entered  upon,  nor  that  we 
depend  upon  the  judgment  of  the  duke  alone.  It  is,  unhappily, 
true  that  his  life  is  sinful,  and  so  is  that  of  Lord  Grey,  who  hath 
deserted  his  lawful  wife  for  her  sister.  But  those  who  have 
pushed  on  the  enterprise  consider  that  the  duke  is,  at  least,  a 
true  Protestant,  They  have,  moreover,  received  solid  assur- 
ances of  support  from  every  quarter.  You  have  been  kept  in 
the  dark  from  the  beginning  at  my  own  earnest  request,  because, 
though  I  knew  full  well  your  opinion,  I  would  not  trouble  your 
peace  or  endanger  your  person.  Suffer  us,  then,  to  depart,  and, 
for  yourself,  do  nothing ;  and  keep — oh  !  sir,  I  entreat  you — 
keep  Robin  at  home  until  our  success  leaves  no  room  for  doubt," 

"  Go,  then,  go,"  said  Sir  Christopher;  "  I  have  grievous  misgiv- 
ings that  all  is  not  well.     But  go,  and  Heaven  bless  the  cause  !" 

Robin  kissed  me,  whispering  that  he  would  follow,  and  that 
before  many  days  ;  and  so  we  mounted  and  rode  forth.  In 
such  hot  haste  did  we  depart  that  we  took  with  us  no  change 
of  raiment  or  any  provision  for  the  journey  at  all,  save  that 
Barnaby,  who,  as  I  afterwards  found,  never  forgot  the  provis- 
ions, found  time  to  get  together  a  small  parcel  of  bread  and 
meat,  and  a  flask  of  Malmsey,  with  which  to  refresh  our  spirits 
later  on.  We  even  rode  away  without  any  money, 
•  My  father  rode  one  horse  and  my  mother  sat  behind  him  ; 
then  I  followed,  Barnaby  marching  manfully  beside  me,  and 
Plumphrey  rode  last.  The  ways  are  rough,  so  that  those  Avho 
ride,  even  by  daylight,  go  but  slowly ;  and  we,  riding  between 
high  hedges,  went  much  too  slowly  for  my  father,  who,  if  he 
spoke  at  all,  cried  out  impatiently,  "  Quicker  !  quicker  !  we  lose 
the  time," 

He  sat  bending  over  the  horse's  head,  with  rounded  shoulders, 
his  feet  sticking  out  on  either  side,  his  long  white  hair  and  his 
ragged  cassock  floating  in  the  wind.  In  his  left  hand  he  carried 
his  Bible  as  a  soldier  carries  his  sword  ;  on  his  head  he  wore 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  105 

the  black  silk  cap  in  wliicli  he  daily  sat  at  work.  He  was  pray- 
ing and  meditating  ;  he  was  preparing  the  sermon  which  he 
would  deliver  in  the  morning. 

Barnaby  plodded  on  beside  me ;  night  or  day  made  no  dif- 
ference to  him.  He  slept  when  he  could,  and  worked  when 
he  must.  Sailors  keep  their  watch  day  and  night  without 
any  difference. 

"  It  was  Sir  Christopher  that  I  came  after,"  he  told  me  pres- 
ently. "  Mr.  Dare — who  hath  since  been  killed  by  Mr.  Fletch- 
er— told  the  duke  that  if  Sir  Christopher  Challis  Avould  only 
come  into  camp,  old  as  he  is,  the  country  gentlemen  of  his 
opinions  would  follow  to  a  man,  so  respected  is  he.  Well,  he 
will  not.  But  we  have  his  nephew,  Humphrey ;  and,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  we  shall  have  his  grandson — if  kisses  mean  anything. 
So  Robin  is  thy  sweetheart,  sister  ;  thou  art  a  lucky  girl.  And 
we  shall  have  dad  to  preach.  Well,  I  know  not  what  will  hap- 
pen, but  some  will  be  knocked  o'  the  head,  and  if  dad  goes 
in  the  way  of  knocks —  But  whatever  happens,  he  will  get  his 
tongue  again,  and  so  he  Avill  be  happy." 

"  As  for  preaching,"  he  went  on,  speaking  with  due  pauses, 
because  there  was  no  hurry  and  he  was  never  one  of  those  whose 
words  flow  easily,  "  if  he  thinks  to  preach  daily,  as  they  say 
was  done  in  Cromwell's  time,  I  doubt  if  he  will  find  many  to 
listen,  for  by  the  look  of  the  fellows  who  are  crowding  into 
camp  tliey  Avill  love  the  clinking  of  the  can  better  than  the 
division  of  the  "text.  But  if  he  cause  his  friends  to  join  he  will 
be  welcomed  ;  and  for  devoting  his  wife  and  daughter,  that, 
sister,  with  submission,  is  rank  nonsense,  and  the  sooner  you 
get  out  of  the  camp,  if  you  must  go  there,  the  better.  Women 
aboard  ship  are  bad  enough,  but  in  camp  they  are  the  devil." 

"  Barnaby,  speak  not  lightly  of  the  Evil  One." 

"  Where  shall  we  bestow  you  when  the  fighting  comes  ?  Well, 
it  shall  be  in  some  safe  place." 

"  Oh,  Barnaby  !  will  there  be  fighting  ?" 

"  Good  lack,  child  !  what  else  will  there  be  ?" 

"  As  the  walls  of  Jericho  fell  down  at  the  blast  of  the  trumpet, 
so  the  king's  armies  will  be  dispersed  at  the  approach  of  the 
Lord's  soldiers." 

"  That  was  a  long  time  ago,  sister.  There  is  now  no  trumpet- 
work  employed  in  war,  and  no  priests  on  the  march ;  but  plenty 
5* 


106  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

of  figliting  to  be  done  before  aiiytliing  is  accomplished.  But 
have  no  fear.  The  country  is  rising.  They  are  sick  at  heart 
already  of  a  popish  king.  I  say  not  that  it  will  be  easy  work ; 
but  it  can  be  done,  and  it  will  be  done,  before  we  all  sit 
down  again." 

"  And  what  will  happen  when  it  is  done  ?" 

"  Truly,  I  know  not.  When  one  king  is  sent  a-packing  they 
put  up  another,  I  suppose.  My  father  shall  have  the  biggest 
church  in  the  country  to  preach  in ;  Humphrey  Avill  be  made 
physician  to  the  new  king — nothing  less ;  you  shall  marry 
Robin,  and  he  shall  be  made  a  duke  or  a  lord  at  least ;  and  I 
shall  have  command  of  the  biggest  ship  in  the  king's  navy,  and 
go  to  fight  the  Spaniards,  or  to  trade  for  negroes  on  the  Guinea 
coast." 

"  And  suppose  the  duke  should  be  defeated  ?" 

"  Well,  sister,  if  he  is  defeated  it  will  go  hard  with  all  of  us. 
Those  who  are  caught  will  be  stabbed  with  a  Bridport  dagger, 
as  they  say.  Ask  not  such  a  question ;  as  well  ask  a  sailor 
what  will  happen  to  him  if  his  ship  is  cast  away.  Some  may 
escape  in  boats  and  some  by  swimming,  and  some  are  drowned, 
and  some  are  cast  upon  savage  shores.  Every  man  must  take 
his  chance.  Never  again  ask  such  a  question.  Nevertheless, 
I  fear  my  father  will  get  his  neck  as  far  in  the  noose  as  I  my- 
self. But  remember,  sister,  do  you  and  my  mother  keep  snug. 
Let  others  carry  on  the  rebellion,  do  you  keep  snug.  For,  d'ye 
see,  a  man  takes  his  chance,  and  if  there  should  happen  a  de- 
feat and  the  rout  of  these  country  lads,  I  could  e'en  scud  by 
myself  before  the  gale,  and  maybe  get  to  a  seaport  and  so  aboard 
and  away  while  the  chase  was  hot.  But  for  a  woman — keep 
snug,  I  say,  therefore." 

The  night,  happily,  was  clear  and  fine.  A  slight  breeze  was 
blowing  from  the  northwest,  which  made  one  shiver,  yet  it  was 
not  too  cold.  I  heard  the  screech-owl  once  or  twice,  which 
caused  me  to  tremble  more  than  the  cold.  The  road,  Avhen  we 
left  the  highway,  which  is  not  often  mended  in  these  parts, 
became  a  narrow  lane  full  of  holes  and  deep  ruts,  or  else  a  track 
across  open  country.     But  Barnaby  knew  the  way. 

It  was  about  ten  of  the  clock  when  we  began  our  journey,  and 
it  was  six  in  the  morning  when  we  finished  it.  I  suppose  there 
are  few  women  who  can  boast  of  having  taken  so  long  a  ride 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  107 

and  in  tlie  niglit.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  I  felt  no  desire  to  sleep ; 
nor  was  I  wearied  with  the  jogging  of  the  horse,  but  was  sus- 
tained by  something  of  the  spirit  of  my  father.  A  wonderful 
thing  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  simple  country  maid,  such  as 
myself,  should  help  in  putting  down  the  Catholic  king ;  women 
there  have  been  who  have  played  great  parts  in  history — Jael, 
Deborah,  Judith,  and  Esther,  for  example  ;  but  that  I  should 
be  called  (since  then  I  have  discovered  that  I  was  not  called), 
this,  indeed,  seemed  truly  wonderful.  Then  I  was  going  forth 
to  Avitness  the  array  of  a  gallant  army  about  to  fight  for  freedom 
and  for  religion,  just  as  they  were  arrayed  forty  years  before, 
when  Sir  Christopher  was  a  young  man  and  rode  among  them. 

My  brother,  this  stout  Barnaby,  was  one  of  them ;  my  father 
was  one  of  them ;  Humphrey  was  one  of  them  ;  and  in  a  little 
while  I  was  very  sure  (because  Robin  would  feel  no  peace  of 
mind  if  I  was  with  the  insurgents  and  he  was  still  at  home), 
my  lover  would  be  with  them  too.  And  I  pictured  to  myself  a 
holy  and  serious  camp,  filled  with  godly  sober  soldiers  listening 
to  sermons  and  reading  the  Bible,  going  forth  to  battle  with 
hymns  upon  their  lips ;  and  withal  so  valiant  that  at  their  very 
first  onset  the  battalions  of  the  king  would  be  shattered.  Alas ! 
any  one  may  guess  the  foolish  thoughts  of  a  girl  who  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  world  nor  any  experience.  Yet  all  my  life  I 
had  been  taught  that  resistance  Avas  at  times  a  sacred  duty,  and 
that  the  divine  right  of  the  (so-called)  Lord's  Anointed  was  a 
vain  superstition.  So  far,  therefore,  was  I  better  prepared  than 
most  women  for  the  work  in  hand. 

When  we  rode  through  Sherborne  all  the  folk  were  a-bed  and 
the  streets  were  empty.  From  Sherborne  our  way  lay  through 
Yetminster  and  Evershott  to  Beaminster,  where  we  watered  and 
rested  the  horses,  and  took  some  of  Barnaby's  j^rovisions.  The 
country  through  which  we  rode  was  full  of  memories  of  the  last 
great  war.  The  Castle  of  Sherborne  was  twice  besieged ;  once 
by  Lord  Bedford,  when  the  Marquis  of  Hertford  held  it  for  the 
king.  That  siege  was  raised ;  but  it  was  afterwards  taken  by 
Fairfax,  with  its  garrison  of  six  hundred  soldiers,  and  was  then  de- 
stroyed, so  that  it  is  now  a  heap  of  ruins  ;  and  as  for  Beaminster, 
the  town  hath  never  recovered  from  the  great  fire  when  Prince 
Maurice  held  it,  and  it  is  still  half  in  ruins,  though  the  ivy  hath 
,grown  over  the  blackened  walls  of  the  burned  houses.    The  last 


108  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

great  war  of  which  I  had  heard  so  much !  And  now,  perliaps, 
we  were  about  to  begin  anotlier. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  we  dismounted  at 
Beaminster.  My  mother  sat  down  upon  a  bench  and  fell  in- 
stantly asleep.  My  father  walked  up  and  down  impatiently,  as 
grudging  every  minute.  Barnaby,  for  his  part,  made  a  leisurely 
and  comfortable  meal,  eating  his  bread  and  meat — of  which  I 
had  some — and  drinking  his  Malmsey  with  relish,  as  if  we  were 
on  a  journey  of  pleasure  and  there  was  plenty  of  time  for  leis- 
urely feeding.  Presently  he  arose  with  a  sigh  (the  food  and 
wine  being  all  gone),  and  said  that  the  horses,  bemg  now  rested, 
we  might  proceed.  So  he  lifted  my  mother  into  her  seat  and 
we  went  on  with  the  journey,  the  day  now  breaking. 

The  way,  I  say,  was  never  tedious  to  me,  for  I  was  sustained 
by  the  novelty  and  the  strangeness  of  the  thing.  Although  I 
had  a  thousand  things  to  ask  Barnaby,  it  must  be  confessed 
that  for  one  who  had  travelled  so  far  he  had  marvellous  little 
to  tell.  I  dare  say  that  the  deck  and  cabins  of  a  ship  are  much 
the  same  whether  she  be  on  the  Spanish  Main  or  in  the  Bristol 
Channel,  and  sailors,  even  in  port,  are  never  an  observant  race, 
except  of  weather  and  so  forth.  It  was  strange,  however,  only 
to  look  upon  him  and  to  mark  how  stout  a  man  he  was  grown 
and  how  strong,  and  yet  how  he  still  spoke  like  the  old  Barnaby, 
so  good-natured  and  so  dull  with  his  book,  who  was  daily  flogged 
for  his  Latin  grammar,  and  bore  no  malice,  but  prepared  himself 
to  enjoy  the  present  when  the  flogging  was  over,  and  not  to  an- 
ticipate the  certain  repetition  of  the  flogging  on  the  morrow. 
He  spoke  in  the  same  slow  way,  as  if  speech  were  a  thing  too 
precious  to  be  poured  out  quickly ;  and  there  was  always  sense 
in  what  he  said  (Barnaby  was  only  stupid  in  the  matter  of  syn- 
tax), though  he  gave  me  not  such  answers  as  I  could  have  Avished. 
However,  he  confessed,  little  by  little,  somethmg  of  his  history 
and  adventures.  When  he  ran  away,  it  was,  as  we  thought,  to 
the  port  of  Bristol,  where  he  presently  found  a  berth  as  cabin- 
boy  on  board  a  West-Indiaman.  In  this  enviable  post — every- 
body on  board  has  a  cuff  or  a  kick  or  a  rope's-end  for  the  boy — 
he  continued  for  some  time.  "  But,"  said  Barnaby,  "  you  are 
not  to  think  that  the  rope's-end  was  half  so  bad  as  my  father's 
rod ;  nor  the  captain's  oath  so  bad  as  my  father's  rebuke ;  nor 
the  rough  work  and  hard  fare  so  bad  as  the  Latin  syntax."    Be- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  109 

ing  so  strong,  and  a  liearty,  willing  lad  to  boot,  lie  was  quickly 
promoted  to  be  an  able  seaiiian,  when  there  were  no  more  rope's- 
endings  for  him.  Then,  having  an  ambition  above  his  station, 
and  not  liking  his  rude  and  ignorant  companions  of  the  fo'k'sle 
(which  is  the  forepart  of  a  ship,  where  the  common  sailors  sleep 
and  eat),  and  being  so  fortunate  as  to  win  the  good  graces  of 
the  supercargo  first  and  of  the  captain  next,  he  applied  his  leisure 
time  (when  he  had  any  leisure)  to  the  method  of  taking  obser- 
vations, of  calculating  longitudes  and  latitudes,  his  knowledge 
of  arithmetic  having  fortunately  stuck  in  his  mind  longer  than 
that  of  Latin.  These  things,  I  understand,  are  of  the  greatest 
use  to  a  sailor  and  necessary  to  an  officer.  Armed  with  this 
knowledge,  and  the  recommendation  of  his  superiors,  Barnaby 
was  promoted  from  before  the  mast  and  became  what  they  call 
a  mate,  and  so  rose  by  degrees  until  he  was  at  last  second  cap- 
tain. But  by  this  time  he  had  made  many  voyages  to  the  West 
Indies,  to  New  York  and  Baltimore,  and  to  the  West  Coast  of 
Africa  in  the  service  of  his  owners,  and,  I  dare  say,  had  procured 
much  wealth  for  them,  though  but  little  for  himself.  And  being 
at  Rotterdam  upon  his  owners'  business,  he  was  easily  persuaded 
— being  always  a  stout  Protestant,  and  desirous  to  strike  a  blow 
in  revenge  for  the  ejection  of  his  father — to  engage  as  second 
captain  on  board  the  frigate  which  brought  over  the  Duke  of 
Monmouth  and  his  company,  and  then  to  join  him  on  his  land- 
ing. This  was  the  sum  of  what  he  had  to  tell  me.  He  had 
seen  many  strange  people,  wonderful  things,  and  monsters  of  the 
deep ;  Indians,  whom  the  cruelty  and  avarice  of  the  Spaniards 
have  well-nigh  destroyed,  the  sugar  plantations  in  the  islands, 
negro  slaves,  negroes  free  in  their  own  country,  sharks  and  cala- 
maries,  of  which  I  had  read  and  heard — he  had  seen  all  these 
things,  and  still  remained  (in  his  mind,  I  mean)  as  if  he  had 
seen  nothing.  So  wonderfully  made  are  some  men's  minds  that 
whatever  they  see  they  are  in  no  way  moved. 

I  say,  then,  that  Barnaby  answered  ray  questions,  as  we  rode 
along,  briefly,  and  as  if  such  matters  troubled  him  not.  AVhen 
I  asked  him,  for  example,  how  the  poor  miserable  slaves  liked 
being  captured  and  sold  and  put  on  board  ship  crowded  together 
for  so  long  a  voyage,  Barnaby  replied  that  he  did  not  know,  his 
business  being  to  buy  them  and  carry  them  across  the  water, 
and  if  they  rebelled  on  board  ship  to  shoot  them  down  or  flog 


110  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

them ;  and  when  they  got  to  Jamaica  to  sell  them :  where,  if 
they  would  not  work,  they  would  be  flogged  until  they  came  to 
a  better  mind.  If  a  man  was  born  a  negro,  what  else,  he  asked, 
could  he  expect  ? 

There  was  one  question  which  I  greatly  desired  to  ask  him, 
but  dared  not.  It  concerned  the  welfare  of  his  soul.  Present- 
ly, however,  Barnaby  answered  that  question  before  I  put  it. 

"  Sister,"  he  said,  "  my  mother's  constant  affliction  concerning 
me,  before  I  ran  away,  was  as  to  the  salvation  of  my  soul.     And 
truly,  that  seems  to  me  so  difficult  a  thing  to  compass  (like  navi- 
gation to  an  unknown  port  over  an  unknown  sea  set  everywhere 
with  hidden  rocks  and  liable  to  sudden  gusts)  that  I  cannot  un- 
derstand how  a  plain  man  can  ever  succeed  in  it.     Wherefore 
it  comforted  me  mightily  after  I  got  to  sea  to  learn  on  good 
authority  that  there  is  another  way,  which,  compared  with  my 
father's,  is  light  and  easy.     In  short,  sister,  though  he  knows  it 
not,  there  is  one  religion  for  lands-folk  and  another  for  sailor- 
folk.     A  sailor  (everybody  knoAvs)  cannot  get  so  much  as  a  sail 
bent  without  cursing  and  swearing — this,  which  is  desperately 
wicked  ashore,  counts  for  nothing  at  all  afloat :   and  so  with 
many  other  things ;  and  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that  if 
a  sailor  does  his  duty,  fights  his  ship  like  a  man,  is  true  to  his 
owners  and  faithful  to  his  messmates,  it  matters  not  one  straw 
whether  he  hath  daily  sworn  great  oaths,  drunk  himself  (when- 
ever he  went  ashore)  as  helpless  as  a  log,  and  kissed  a  pretty 
girl  Avhenever  his  good  luck  gave  him  the  chance — which  does, 
indeed,  seldom  come  to  most  sailors" — he  added  this  with  a 
deep  sigh — "  I  say,  sister,  that  for  such  a  sailor,  when  his  ship 
goes  down  with  him,  or  when  he  gets  a  grapeshot  through  his 
vitals,  or  when  he  dies  of  fever,  as  happens  often  enough  in  the 
hot  climates,  there  is  no  question  as  to  the  safety  of  his  soul, 
but  he  goes  straight  to  heaven.    What  he  is  ordered  to  do  when 
he  gets  there,"  said  Barnaby,  "  I  cannot  say ;   but  it  will  be 
something,  I  doubt  not,  that  a  sailor  will  like  to  do.     AVhere- 
fore,  sister,  you  can  set  my  mother's  heart — poor  soul ! — quite  at 
rest  on  this  important  matter.     You  can  tell  her  that  you  have 
conversed  with  me,  and  that  I  have  that  very  same  inward  as- 
surance of  which  my  father  speaks  so  much  and  at  such  length. 
The  very  same  assurance  it  is — tell  her  that.     And  beg  her  to 
ask  me  no  questions  upon  tlie  matter." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  Ill 

"  Well,  Barnaby  ;  but  art  thou  sure — " 

"  It  is  a  heavenly  comfort,"  he  replied,  before  I  had  time  to 
finish,  "  to  have  such  an  assurance.  For  why  ?  A  man  that 
hath  it  doth  never  more  trouble  himself  about  what  shall  hap- 
pen to  him  after  he  is  dead.  Therefore  he  goes  about  his  duty 
with  an  easy  mind ;  and  so,  sister,  no  more  upon  this  head,  if 
you  love  me  and  desire  peace  of  mind  for  my  mother." 

So  nothing  more  was  said  upon  that  subject  then  or  after- 
wards. A  sailor  to  be  exempted  by  right  of  his  calling  from 
the  religion  of  the  landsman  !  'Tis  a  strange  and  dangerous 
doctrine.  But  if  all  sailors  believe  it,  yet  how  can  it  be  ?  This 
question,  I  confess,  is  too  high  for  me.  And  as  for  my  mother, 
I  gave  her  Barnaby's  message,  begging  her  at  the  same  time  not 
to  question  him  further.     And  she  sighed,  but  obeyed. 

Presently  Barnaby  asked  me  if  we  had  any  money. 

I  had  none,  and  I  knew  that  my  mother  could  have  but  little. 
Of  course,  my  father  never  had  any.  I  doubt  if  he  had  pos- 
sessed a  single  penny  since  his  ejection. 

"  Well,"  said  Barnaby,  "  I  thought  to  give  my  money  to 
mother.  But  I  now  perceive  that  if  she  has  it  she  will  give  it 
to  dad ;  and  if  he  has  it,  he  will  give  it  all  to  the  duke  for  the 
cause — wherefore,  sister,  do  you  take  it  and  keep  it,  not  for  me, 
but  to  be  expended  as  seemeth  you  best."  He  lugged  out  of 
his  pocket  a  heavy  bag.  "  Here  is  all  the  money  I  have  saved 
in  ten  years.  Nay — I  am  not  as  some  sailors,  one  that  cannot 
keep  a  penny  in  purse,  but  must  needs  fling  all  away.  Here  are 
two  hundred  and  fifty  gold  pieces.  Take  them,  sister.  Hang 
the  bag  round  thy  neck,  and  never  part  with  it,  day  or  night. 
And  say  nothing  about  the  money  either  to  mother  or  to  dad, 
for  he  will  assuredly  do  with  it  as  I  have  said.  A  time  may 
come  when  thou  wilt  want  it." 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  gold  pieces!  W^as  it  possible  that 
Barnaby  could  be  so  rich  ?  I  took  the  bag  and  hung  it  round 
my  waist — not  my  neck — by  the  string  which  he  had  tied  above 
the  neck,  and,  as  it  was  covered  by  my  mantle,  nobody  ever  sus- 
pected that  I  had  this  treasure.  In  the  end,  as  you  shall  hear, 
it  was  useful. 

It  was  now  broad  daylight,  and  the  sun  was  up.  As  we  drew 
near  Bridport  there  stood  a  man  in  the  road  armed  with  a  halbert. 

"  Whither  go  ye,  good  people  ?"  he  asked. 


112  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Friend,"  said  Barnaby,  flourisliing  his  oaken  staff,  "  we  ride 
upon  our  own  business.  Stand  aside,  or  tliou  may  est  henceforth 
have  no  more  business  to  do  upon  this  earth !" 

"  Ride  on  then — ride  on,"  lie  repUed,  standing  aside  with 
great  meekness.  This  was  one  of  the  guards  whom  they  posted 
everywhere  upon  the  roads  in  order  to  stop  the  people  who  were 
flocking  to  the  camp.  In  this  way  many  were  sent  back,  and 
many  were  arrested  on  their  way  to  join  Monmouth. 

Now%  as  we  drew  near  to  Bridport,  the  time  being  about  four 
o'clock,  we  heard  the  firing  of  guns  and  a  great  shouting. 

"  They  have  begun  the  fighting,"  said  Barnaby.  "  I  knew  it 
would  not  be  long  a-coming." 

It  was,  in  fact,  their  first  engagement,  when  the  Dorsetshire 
militia  were  driven  out  of  Bridport  by  the  duke's  troops,  and 
there  would  have  been  a  signal  victory  at  the  very  outset  but 
for  the  cowardice  of  Lord  Grey,  who  ran  away  with  the  horse. 

Well,  it  was  a  strange  and  a  wonderful  thing  to  think  that 
close  at  hand  were  men  killing  each  other  on  the  Sabbath  ;  yea, 
and  some  lying  wounded  on  the  roads ;  and  that  civil  war  had 
again  begun. 
"  "  Let  us  push  on,"  said  Humphrey,  "  out  of  the  way  of  these 
troops.  They  are  but  country  lads  all  of  them.  If  they  retreat, 
they  will  run ;  and  if  they  run,  they  will  be  seized  with  a  panic, 
and  will  run  all  the  way  back  to  Lyme  trampling  on  everything 
that  is  in  the  road." 

This  was  sound  advice,  which  we  followed,  taking  an  upper 
track  which  brought  us  into  the  high-road  a  mile  or  so  nearer 
Charmouth. 

I  do  not  think  there  can  be  anywhere  a  finer  road  than  that 
which  runs  from  Charmouth  to  Lyme.  It  runneth  over  high  hills 
sometimes  above  the  sea  which  rolls  far  below,  and  sometimes 
above  a  great  level  inland  plain,  the  name  of  which  I  have  for- 
gotten. The  highest  of  the  hills  is  called  Golden  Cap ;  the  rea- 
son why  was  plainly  shown  this  morning  when  the  sky  was  clear 
and  the  sun  was  shining  from  the  southeast  full  upon  this  tall 
pico.  When  we  got  into  this  road  we  found  it  full  of  young 
fellows,  lusty  and  well  conditioned,  all  marching,  running,  walk- 
ing, shouting,  and  singing  on  their  way  to  join  Monmouth.  Some 
were  adorned  with  flowers,  some  wore  the  blue  favor  of  the  duke, 
some  had  cockades  in  their  hats,  and  some  again  were  armed 


-i^Ssjs-*?- 


"  My  father  lifted  his  head  and  waved  his  hand,  crying,  '  A  Monmouth! 
A  Monmouth  /' " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  113 

with  musket  or  with  sword ;  some  carried  pikes,  some  knives 
tied  on  to  long  poles,  some  had  nothing  but  thick  cudgels,  which 
they  brandished  valiantly.  At  sight  of  these  brave  fellows  my 
father  lifted  his  head  and  waved  his  hand,  crying  "  A  Monmouth  ! 
a  Monmouth  !  Follow  me,  brave  lads  !"  just  as  if  he  had  been  a 
captain  encouraging  his  men  to  charge. 

The  church  of  Lyme  standeth  high  upon  the  cliff  Avhich  faces 
the  sea ;  it  is  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  town,  and  before  you 
get  to  the  church,  on  the  way  from  Charmouth,  there  is  a  IJroad 
field  also  on  the  edge  of  the  cliflf.  It  was  this  field  that  was  the 
first  camp  of  Monmouth's  men.  There  were  no  tents  for  the 
men  to  lie  in,  but  there  were  wagons  filled,  I  suppose,  with  mu- 
nitions of  war ;  there  were  booths  where  things  were  sold,  such 
as  hot  sausages  fried  over  a  charcoal  fire,  fried  fish,  lobsters  and 
periwinkles,  cold  bacon  and  pork,  bread,  cheese,  and  such  like, 
and  barrels  of  beer  and  cider  on  wooden  trestles.  The  men 
were  haggling  for  the  food  and  drink,  and  already  one  or  two 
seemed  fuddled.  Some  were  exercising  in  the  use  of  arms ; 
some  were  dancing,  and  some  singing.  And  no  thouglit  or  re- 
spect paid  at  all  to  the  Sabbath.  Oh  !  was  this  the  pious  and 
godly  camp  which  I  had  expected. 

"  Sister,"  said  Barnaby,  "  this  is  a  godly  and  religious  place 
to  which  the  wisdom  of  dad  hath  brought  thee.  Perhaps  he 
meaneth  thee  to  lie  in  the  open  like  the  lads," 

"  Where  is  the  duke  ?"  asked  my  father,  looking  wrathfully  at 
these  revellers  and  Sabbath-breakers. 

"  The  duke  lies  at  the  George  Inn,"  said  Barnaby.  "  I  will 
show  the  way." 

In  the  blue  parlor  of  the  George  the  duke  was  at  that  time 
holding  a  council.  There  were  different  reports  as  to  the  Brid- 
port  affair.  Already  it  was  said  that  Lord  Grey  was  unfit  to 
lead  the  horse,  having  been  the  first  to  run  away  ;  and  some  said 
that  the  militia  were  driven  out  of  the  town  in  a  panic,  and  some 
that  they  made  a  stand  and  that  our  men  had  fled.  I  know  not 
what  was  the  truth,  and  now  it  matters  little,  except  tliat  the 
first  action  of  our  men  brought  them  little  honor.  When  the 
council  was  finished,  the  duke  sent  word  that  he  would  receive 
Dr.  Challis  (that  was  Humphrey)  and  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin. 

So  they  were  introduced  to  the  presence  of  his  grace,  and  first 
my  fatlier — as  Humphrey  told  me — fell  into  a  kind  of  ecstasy, 

H 


114  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

praising  God  for  the  landing  of  the  duke,  and  foretelling  such 
speedy  victory  as  would  lay  the  enemies  of  the  country  at  his 
feet.  He  then  drew  forth  a  roll  of  paper  in  which  he  had  set 
down,  for  the  information  of  the  duke,  the  estimated  number  of 
the  disaffected  in  every  town  of  the  south  and  west  of  England, 
with  the  names  of  such  as  could  be  trusted  not  only  to  risk  their 
own  bodies  and  estates  in  the  cause,  but  would  stir  up  and  en- 
courage their  friends.  There  were  so  many  on  these  lists  that 
the  duke's  eyes  brightened  as  he  read  them. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  if  these  reports  can  be  depended  upon  we  are 
indeed  made  men.     What  is  your  opinion,  Dr.  Challis?" 

"  My  opinion,  sir,  is  that  these  are  the  names  of  friends  and 
well-wishers  ;  if  they  see  your  grace  well  supported  at  the  outset 
they  will  flock  in ;  if  not,  many  of  them  will  stand  aloof." 

"  Will  Sir  Christopher  join  me  ?"  asked  the  duke. 

"  No,  sir ;  he  is  now  seventy -five  years  of  age." 

Then  the  duke  turned  away.  Presently  he  returned  to  the  lists 
and  asked  many  questions. 

"  Sir,"  said  my  father,  at  length,  "  I  have  given  you  the  names 
of  all  that  I  know  who  are  well-affected  to  the  Protestant  cause ; 
they  are  those  who  have  remained  faithful  to  the  ejected  minis- 
ters. Many  a  time  have  I  secretly  preached  to  them.  One  thing- 
is  wanting :  the  assurance  that  your  grace  will  bestow  upon  us 
liberty  of  conscience  and  freedom  of  worship.  Else  will  not  one 
move  hand  or  foot." 

"  Why,"  said  the  duke,  "  for  what  other  purpose  am  I  come  ? 
Assure  them,  good  friend,  assure  them  in  my  name ;  make  the 
most  solemn  pledge  that  is  in  your  power  and  in  mine." 

"  In  that  case,  sir,"  said  my  father,  "  I  will  at  once  write  let- 
ters with  my  own  hand  to  the  brethren  everywhere.  There  are 
many  honest  country  lads  who  will  carry  the  letters  by  ways 
Avhere  they  are  not  likely  to  be  arrested  and  searched.  And 
now,  sir,  I  pray  your  leave  to  preach  to  these  your  soldiers. 
They  are  at  present  drinking,  swearing,  and  breaking  the  Sab- 
bath. The  campaign  which  should  be  begun  with  prayer  and 
humiliation  for  the  sins  of  the  country  hath  been  begun  with 
many  deadly  sins,  with  merriment,  and  with  fooling.  Suffer  me, 
then,  to  preach  to  them." 

"  Preach,  by  all  means,"  said  the  duke.  "  You  shall  have  the 
parish  church.     I  fear,  sir,  that  my  business  will  not  suffer  me  to 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  115 

have  the  edification  of  your  sermon,  but  I  liojjc  that  it  will  tend  to 
the  soberness  and  earnestness  of  my  men.  Forgive  them,  sir,  for 
their  lightness  of  heart.  They  are  for  the  most  part  young. 
Encourage  them  by  promises  rather  than  by  rebuke.  And  so, 
sir,  for  this  occasion,  farewell !" 

In  this  way  my  father  obtained  the  wish  of  his  heart,  and 
preached  once  more  in  a  church  before  the  people  who  were  the 
young  soldiers  of  Monmouth's  array. 

I  did  not  hear  that  sermon,  because  I  was  asleep.  It  was  in 
tones  of  thunder  that  my  father  preached  to  them.  He  spoke  of 
the  old  war,  and  the  brave  deeds  that  their  fathers  had  done  un- 
der Cromwell ;  theirs  was  the  victory.  Now,  as  then,  the  victory 
should  be  theirs,  if  they  carried  the  spirit  of  faithfulness  into 
battle.  He  warned  them  of  their  sins,  sparing  none ;  and,  in 
the  end,  he  concluded  with  such  a  denunciation  of  the  king  as 
made  all  who  heard  it,  and  had  been  taught  to  regard  the  king's 
majesty  as  sacred,  open  their  mouths  and  gape  upon  each  other  ; 
for  then,  for  the  first  time,  they  truly  understood  what  it  was  that 
they  were  engaged  to  do. 

While  my  father  waited  to  see  the  duke,  Barnaby  went  about 
looking  for  a  lodging.  The  town  is  small,  and  the  houses  were 
all  filled,  but  he  presently  found  a  cottage  (call  it  rather  a  hut) 
on  the  shore  beside  the  Cobb,  where,  on  promise  of  an  extrava- 
gant payment,  the  fisherman's  wife  consented  to  give  up  her  bed 
to  my  mother  and  myself.  Before  the  bargain  was  concluded,  I 
had  laid  myself  down  upon  it  and  was  sound  asleep. 

So  I  slept  the  whole  day ;  though  outside  there  was  such  a 
trampling  on  the  beach,  such  a  landing  of  stores  and  creaking  of 
chains  as  might  have  awakened  the  seven  sleepers.  But  me 
nothing  could  awaken. 

In  the  evening  I  woke  up  refreshed.  My  mother  was  already 
awake,  but  for  weariness  could  not  move  out  of  her  chair.  The 
good  woman  of  the  cottage,  a  kindly  soul,  brought  me  rough 
food  of  some  kind  with  a  drink  of  water — the  army  had  drunk 
up  all  the  milk,  eaten  all  the  cheese,  the  butter,  the  eggs,  and  the 
pork,  beef,  and  mutton  in  the  place.  And  then  Humphrey  came 
and  asked  if  I  would  go  with  him  into  the  town  to  see  the  sol- 
diers. So  I  went,  and  glad  I  was  to  see  the  sight.  But,  Lord  ! 
to  think  that  it  was  the  Sabbath  evening.  For  the  main  street 
of  Lyme  was  full  of  men,  swaggering  with  long  swords  at  their 


110  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

sides  and  some  with  spears — feathers  in  tlieir  hats  and  pistols 
stuck  in  their  belts,  all  were  talking  loud,  as  I  am  told  is  the  cus- 
tom in  a  camp  of  soldiers.  Outside  the  George  there  was  a  bar- 
rel on  a  stand,  and  venders  and  drawers  ran  about  with  cans, 
fetching  and  carrying  the  liquor  for  which  the  men  continually 
called.  Then  at  the  door  of  the  George  there  appeared  the  duke 
himself  with  his  following  of  gentlemen.  All  rose  and  huzzaed 
while  the  duke  came  down  the  steps  and  turned  towards  the 
camp  outside  the  town. 

I  saw  his  face  very  well  as  he  passed.  Indeed,  I  saw  him 
many  times  afterwards,  and  I  declare  that  my  heart  sank  when 
first  I  gazed  upon  him  as  he  stood  upon  the  steps  of  the  George 
Inn.  For  on  his  face,  plain  to  read,  was  the  sadness  of  coming 
ruin.  I  say  I  knew  from  that  moment  what  would  be  his  end. 
Nay,  I  am  no  prophetess  nor  am  I  a  witch  to  know  beforehand 
the  counsels  of  the  Almighty ;  yet  the  Lord  hath  permitted  by 
certain  signs  the  future  to  become  apparent  to  those  who  know 
how  to  read  them.  In  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  the  signs  were  a 
restless  and  uneasy  eye,  an  air  of  preoccupation,  a  trembling 
mouth,  and  a  hesitating  manner.  There  was  in  him  nothing  of 
the  confidence  of  one  who  knows  that  fortune  is  about  to  smile 
upon  him.  This,  I  say,  was  my  first  thought  about  the  duke, 
and  the  first  thought  is  prophecy. 

There  sat  beside  the  benches  a  secretary,  or  clerk,  who  took 
down  the  names  of  recruits.  The  duke  stopped  and  looked  on. 
A  young  man  in  a  sober  suit  of  brown,  in  appearance  different 
from  the  country  lads,  was  giving  in  his  name. 

"Daniel  Foe,  your  grace,"  said  the  clerk,  looking  up.  "He 
is  from  London." 

"  From  London,"  the  duke  repeated.  "  I  have  many  friends 
in  London.  I  expect  them  shortly.  Thou  art  a  worthy  lad  and 
deservest  encouragement."     So  he  passed  on  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ON    THE    MARCH. 


At  daybreak,  next  morning,  the  drums  began  to  beat  and  the 
trumpets  were  blown,  and  after  breakfast  the  newly  raised  army 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  117 

marched  out  in  such  order  as  was  possible.  I  have  not  to  write 
a  liistory  of  this  rebellion,  which  hath  already  been  done  by  able 
hands ;  I  speak  only  of  what  I  saw,  and  the  things  with  which 
I  was  concerned. 

First,  then,  it  is  true  that  the  whole  country  Avas  quickly  put 
into  a  ferment  by  the  duke's  landing  ;  and  had  those  who  planned 
the  expedition  provided  a  proper  supply  of  arms,  the  army  would 
have  quickly  mustered  twenty  thousand  men,  all  resolute  and  capa- 
ble of  meeting  any  force  that  the  king  could  have  raised.  Nay,  it 
would  have  grown  and  swelled  as  it  moved.  But  there  were  not 
enough  arms.  Everything  promised  well  for  him.  But  there  were 
no  arms  for  half  those  who  came  in.  The  spirit  of  the  Devon  and 
Somerset  militia  was  lukewarm ;  they  ran  at  Bridport,  at  Ax- 
minster,  and  at  Chard ;  nay,  some  of  them  even  deserted  to  join 
the  duke.  There  were  thousands  scattered  about  the  country — 
those,  namely,  who  still  held  to  the  doctrines  of  the  persecuted 
ministers,  and  those  who  abhorred  the  Catholic  religion — who 
wished  well  and  would  have  joined  —  Humphrey  knew  well- 
wishers  by  the  thousand  whose  names  were  on  the  lists  in  Hol- 
land— but  how  could  they  join  when  the  army  was  so  ill-found  ? 
And  this  was  the  principal  reason,  I  am  assured,  why  the  coun- 
try gentlemen  did  not  come  in  at  first — because  there  were  no 
arms.  How  can  soldiers  fight  when  they  have  no  arms  ?  How 
could  the  duke  have  been  suffered  to  begin  with  so  scanty  a 
preparation  of  arms  ?  Afterwards,  when  Monmouth  proclaimed 
himself  king,  there  were,  perhaps,  other  reasons  why  the  well- 
wishers  held  aloof.  Some  of  them,  certainly,  who  were  known 
to  be  friends  of  the  duke  (among  them  Mr.  Prideaux,  of  Ford 
Abbey)  were  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison,  while  many  thou- 
sands Avho  were  flocking  to  the  standard  were  either  turned  back 
or  seized  and  thrown  into  prison. 

As  for  the  quality  of  the  troops  who  formed  the  army,  I 
know  nothing,  except  that  at  Sedgemoor  they  continued  to  fight 
valiantly  after  their  leaders  had  fled.  They  were  raw  troops — 
mere  country  lads — and  their  oflicers  were,  for  the  most  part, 
simple  tradesmen  who  had  no  knowledge  of  the  art  of  war. 
Dare  the  younger  was  a  goldsmith  ;  Captain  Perrot  was  a  dyer ; 
Captain  Hucker,  a  maker  of  serge ;  and  so  on  with  all  of  them. 
It  was  unfortunate  that  Mr.  Andrew  Fletcher,  of  Saltoun,  should 
have  killed  Mr.  Dare  the    elder   on  the  first  day,  because,  as 


118  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

everybody  agrees,  lie  was  the  most  experienced  soldier  in  the 
whole  army.  The  route  proposed  by  the  duke  was  known  to 
everybody.  He  intended  to  march  through  Taunton,  Bridg- 
water, and  Bristol  to  Gloucester,  where  he  thought  he  would  be 
joined  by  a  new  army  raised  by  his  friends  in  Cheshire.  He 
also  reckoned  on  receiving  adherents  everywhere  on  the  road, 
and  on  easily  defeating  any  force  that  the  king  should  be  able 
to  send  against  him.  How  he  fared  in  that  scheme  everybody 
knows. 

Long  before  the  army  was  ready  to  march,  Humphrey  came 
to  advise  v.ith  us.  First  of  all,  he  had  endeavored  to  have 
speech  with  my  father,  but  in  vain.  Henceforth  my  father 
seemed  to  have  no  thought  of  his  wife  and  daughter.  Hum- 
phrey at  first  advised  us  to  go  home  again.  "  As  for  your  dedi- 
cation to  the  cause,"  he  said,  "  I  think  that  he  hath  already  for- 
gotten it,  seeing  that  it  means  nothing,  and  that  your  presence 
with  us  cannot  help.  Go  home,  madam,  and  let  Grace  persuade 
Robin  to  stay  at  home  in  order  to  take  care  of  you." 

"  No,"  said  my  mother  ;  "that  may  we  not  do.  I  must  obey 
my  husband,  who  commanded  us  to  follow  him.  "VVhither  he 
goeth  there  I  will  follow." 

Finding  that  she  was  resolute  upon  this  point,  Humphrey  told 
us  that  the  duke  would  certainly  march  upon  Taunton,  where 
more  than  half  of  the  town  were  his  friends.  He  therefore  ad- 
vised that  we  should  ride  to  that  place — not  following  the  army, 
but  going  across  the  country,  most  of  which  is  a  very  Avild  and 
desolate  part,  where  we  should  have  no  fear  except  from  gypsies 
and  such  wild  people,  who  might  be  robbers  and  rogues,  but  who 
were  all  now  making  the  most  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the 
country  and  running  about  the  roads  plundering  and  thieving. 
But  he  said  he  would  himself  provide  us  with  a  guide,  one  who 
knew  the  way,  and  a  good  stout  fellow,  armed  with  a  cudgel,  at 
least.  To  this  my  mother  agreed,  fearing  to  anger  her  husband 
if  she  should  disturb  him  at  his  work  of  writing  letters. 

Humphrey  had  little  trouble  in  finding  the  guide  for  us.  He 
was  an  honest  lad  from  a  place  called  Holford,  in  the  Quantock 
Hills,  who,  finding  that  there  were  no  arms  for  him,  was  going 
home  again.  Unhappily,  when  we  got  to  Taunton,  he  was  per- 
suaded— partly  by  me,  alas  ! — to  remain.  He  joined  Barnaby's 
company,  and  was  either  killed  at  Sedgemoor,  or  one  of  those 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  119 

hanged  at  Weston,  Zoyland,  or  Bridgwater.  For  he  was  no 
more  heard  of.  This  business  settled,  we  went  up  to  the  church- 
yard in  order  to  see  tlie  march  of  tlie  army  out  of  camp.  And 
a  brave  show  the  gallant  soldiers  made. 

"First  rode  Colonel  Wade  with  the  vanguard.  After  them, 
with  a  due  interval,  rode  the  greater  part  of  the  Horse,  alreadv 
three  hundred  strong,  under  Lord  Grey  of  AVark.  Among  them 
was  the  company  sent  by  Mr.  Speke,  of  White  Lackington,  forty 
very  stout  fellows,  well  armed  and  mounted  on  cart-horses.  The 
main  army  was  composed  of  four  regiments.  The  first  was  the 
Blue  Regiment,  or  the  duke's  own,  whose  colonel  was  the  afore- 
said Wade,  They  formed  the  van,  and  were  seven  hundred 
strong.  The  others  were  the  White,  commanded  by  Colonel 
Foukes,  the  Green  by  Colonel  Holmes,  and  the  Yellow  by  Colo- 
nel Fox.  All  these  regiments  were  fully  armed,  the  men  wear- 
ing favors  or  rosettes  in  their  hats  and  on  their  arms  of  the  color 
from  which  their  regiment  was  named. 

The  duke  himself,  who  rode  a  great  white  horse,- was  surround- 
ed by  a  small  bodyguard  of  gentlemen  (afterwards  they  became 
a  company  of  forty),  richly  dressed  and  well  mounted.  With 
him  were  carried  the  colors,  embroidered  with  the  words  "  Pro 
Religione  ct  Libertate."  This  was  the  second  time  that  I  had 
seen  the  duke,  and  again  I  felt  at  sight  of  his  face  the  fore- 
knowledge of  coming  woe.  On  such  an  occasion  the  chief 
should  show  a  gallant  mien  and  a  face  of  cheerful  hope.  The 
duke,  however,  looked  gloomy,  and  hung  his  head. 

Truly,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  no  force  could  dare  so  much  as 
to  meet  this  great  and  invincible  army.  And  certainly  there 
could  nowhere  be  gathered  together  a  more  stalwart  set  of 
soldiers,  nearly  all  young  men,  and  full  of  spirit.  They  shouted 
and  sang  as  they  marched.  Presently  there  passed  us  my  brother 
Barnaby,  with  his  company  of  the  Green  Regiment.  It  was  easy 
to  perceive  by  the  handling  of  his  arms  and  by  his  bearing  that 
he  was  accustomed  to  act  with  others,  and  already  he  had  so  in- 
structed his  men  that  they  set  an  example  to  the  rest  both  in 
their  orderliness  of  march  and  the  carriage  of  their  weapons. 

After  the  main  army  they  carried  the  ordnance — four  small 
cannon — and  the  ammunition  in  wagons  with  guards  and  horse- 
men. Lastly  there  rode  those  who  do  not  tight,  yet  belong  to 
the  army.     These  were  the  chaplain  to  the  army,  Dr.  Hooke,  a 


120  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

grave  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England ;  Mr.  Ferguson,  the 
duke's  private  chaplain,  a  fiery  person,  of  whom  many  hard 
things  have  been  said,  which  here  concern  us  not ;  and  my 
father,  who  thus  rode  openly  with  the  other  two,  in  order  that 
the  Nonconformists  might  be  encouraged  by  his  presence,  as  an 
equal  with  the  two  chaplains.  He  was  clad  in  a  new  cassock, 
obtained  I  know  not  whence.  He  sat  upright  in  the  saddle,  a 
Bible  in  his  hand,  the  long  white  locks  lying  on  his  shoulders 
like  a  perruque,  but  more  venerable  than  any  wig.  His  thin 
face  was  flushed  with  the  joy  of  coming  victory,  and  his  eyes 
flashed  fire.  If  all  the  men  had  shown  such  a  spirit  the  army 
would  have  overrun  the  whole  country.  The  four  surgeons — 
Dr.  Temple,  Ur.  Gaylard,  Dr.  Oliver,  and  Humphrey — followed, 
all  splendid  in  black  velvet  and  great  periwigs.  Lastly  marched 
the  rearguard ;  but  after  the  army  there  followed  such  a  motley 
crew  as  no  one  can  conceive.  There  were  gypsies,  with  their 
black  tents  and  carts,  ready  to  rob  and  plunder ;  there  were  the 
tinkers,  who  are  nothing  better  than  gypsies,  and  are  said  to 
speak  their  language ;  there  were  men  with  casks  on  wheels 
filled  with  beer  or  cider ;  there  were  carts  carrying  bread,  cakes, 
biscuits,  and  such  things  as  one  can  buy  in  a  booth  or  at  a  fair ; 
there  were  women  of  bold  and  impudent  looks,  singing  as  they 
walked  ;  there  were,  besides,  whole  troops  of  country  lads,  some 
of  them  mere  boys,  running  and  strutting  along  in  hopes  to 
receive  arms  and  to  take  a  place  in  the  regiments. 

Presently  they  were  all  gone,  and  Lyme  was  quit  of  them. 
What  became  in  the  end  of  all  the  rabble  rout  which  followed 
the  army  I  knov/  not.  One  thing  was  certain :  the  godly  dis- 
position, the  pious  singing  of  psalms,  and  the  devout  exposition 
of  the  Word  which  I  had  looked  for  in  the  army  were  not  ap- 
parent. Rather  there  was  evident  a  tumultuous  joy,  as  of  school- 
boys out  for  a  holiday — certainly  no  schoolboys  could  have  made 
more  noise  or  showed  greater  happiness  in  their  faces.  Among 
them,  however,  there  were  some  men  of  middle  age,  whose  faces 
showed  a  different  temper ;  but  these  were  rare. 

"  Lord  help  them  !"  said  our  friendly  fisherwoman,  who  stood 
with  us.  "  There  will  be  hard  knocks  before  those  fine  fellows 
go  home  again." 

"  They  fight  on  the  Lord's  side,"  said  my  mother ;  "  there- 
fore they  may  be  killed,  but  they  will  not  wholly  perish." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  121 

As  for  the  hard  knocks,  tliey  began  witliout  any  delay,  and  on 
that  very  morning.  For  at  Axminster  they  encountered  the 
Somerset  and  Devon  militia,  who  thought  to  join  their  forces, 
but  were  speedily  put  to  flight  by  the  rebels — a  victory  which 
greatly  encouraged  them. 

It  hath  been  maliciously  said  that  we  followed  the  army — as 
if  we  were  tw^o  sutler  women — on  foot,  I  suppose,  tramping  in 
the  dust,  singing  ribald  songs  like  those  poor  creatures  whom 
we  saw  marching  out  of  Lyme.  You  have  heard  how  we  agreed 
to  follow  Humphrey's  advice.  Well,  we  left  Lyme  very  early 
the  next  morning  (our  fisherwoman  having  now  become  very 
friendly  and  loath  to  let  us  go)  and  rode  out,  our  guide  (poor 
lad  !  his  death  lies  heavy  on  my  soul,  yet  I  meant  the  best ;  and, 
truly,  it  was  the  side  of  the  Lord)  marching  beside  us  armed 
with  a  stout  bludgeon.  We  kept  the  main  road  (which  was 
very  quiet  at  this  early  hour)  as  far  as  Axminster,  where  we  left 
it ;  and,  after  crossing  the  river  by  a  ford  or  wash,  Ave  engaged 
upon  a  track,  or  path,  which  led  along  the  banks  of  a  little 
stream  for  a  mile  or  two — as  far  as  the  village  of  Chardstock. 
Here  we  made  no  halt ;  but,  leaving  it  behind,  we  struck  into  a 
most  wild  and  mountainous  countr}^  full  of  old  forests  and  great 
bare  places.  It  is  called  the  Forest  of  Neroche,  and  is  saia  to 
shelter  numbers  of  gypsies  and  vagabonds,  and  to  have  in  it 
some  of  those  wild  people  who  live  in  the  hills  and  woods  of 
Somerset  and  do  no  work  except  to  gather  the  dry  broom  and 
tie  it  up,  and  so  live  hard  and  hungry  lives,  but  know  not  any 
master.  These  are  reported  to  be  a  harmless  people,  but  the 
gypsies  are  dangerous  because  they  are  ready  to  rob  and  even 
murder.  I  thought  of  Barnaby's  bag  of  gold  and  trembled. 
However,  we  met  with  none  of  them  on  the  journey,  because 
they  were  all  running  after  Monmouth's  army.  There  was  no 
path  over  the  hills  by  the  way  we  took  ;  but  our  guide  knew  the 
country  so  well  that  he  needed  none,  pointing  out  the  hills  with 
a  kind  of  pride  as  if  they  belonged  to  him,  and  telling  us  the 
name  of  every  one  ;  but  these  I  have  long  since  forgotten.  The 
country,  however,  I  can  never  forget,  because  it  is  so  wild  and 
beautiful.  One  place  I  remember.  It  is  a  very  strange  and 
wonderful  place.  There  is  a  vast  great  earthwork  surrounded 
by  walls  of  stone,  but  these  are  ruinous.  It  stands  on  a  hill, 
called  Blackdown,  which  looks  over  into  the  Vale  of  Taunton. 
6 


122  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

The  guide  said  it  was  called  Castle  Ratch,  and  that  it  was  built 
long  ago  by  the  ancient  Romans.  It  is  not  at  all  like  Sherborne 
Castle,  which  Oliver  Cromwell  slighted  when  he  took  the  place, 
and  blew  it  up  with  gunpowder ;  but  Sherborne  was  not  built 
by  the  Romans.  Here,  after  our  long  walk,  we  halted  and  took 
the  dinner  of  cold  bacon  and  bread  which  we  had  brought  with 
us.  The  place  looks  out  upon  the  beautiful  Vale  of  Taunton,  of 
which  1  had  heard.  Surely,  there  cannot  be  a  more  rich,  fertile, 
and  lovely  place  in  all  England  than  the  Vale  of  Taunton.  Our 
guide  began  to  tell  us  of  the  glories  of  the  town,  its  wealth  and 
populousness  —  and  all  for  Monmouth,  he  added.  When  my 
mother  was  rested  we  remounted  our  nags  and  went  on,  de- 
scending into  the  plain.  Humphrey  had  provided  us  with  a 
letter  commendatory.  He,  who  knew  the  names  of  all  who  were 
well-afEected,  assured  us  that  the  lady  to  whom  the  letter  was 
addressed,  Miss  Susan  Blake  by  name,  was  one  of  the  most 
forward  in  the  Protestant  cause.  She  was  well  known  and 
much  respected,  and  she  kept  a  school  for  young  gentlewomen, 
where  many  children  of  the  Nonconformist  gentry  were  educated. 
He  instructed  us  to  proceed  directly  to  her  house,  and  to  ask 
her  to  procure  for  us  a  decent  and  safe  lodging.  He  could  not 
have  given  us  a  letter  to  any  better  person. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  rode  into  Taunton. 
The  streets  were  full  of  people  running  about,  talking,  now  in 
groups  and  now  by  twos  and  threes ;  now  shouting  and  now 
whispering  ;  while  we  rode  along  the  street  a  man  ran  bawling — 

"  Great  news  !  great  news  !  Monmouth  is  upon  us  with  twice 
ten  thousand  men !" 

It  seems  that  they  had  only  that  day  learned  of  the  defeat  of 
the  militia  by  the  rebels.  A  company  of  the  Somerset  militia 
were  in  the  town,  under  Colonel  Luttrell,  in  order  to  keep  down 
the  people. 

Taunton  is,  as  everybody  knows,  a  most  rich,  prosperous,  and 
populous  town.  I  had  never  before  seen  so  many  houses  and 
so  many  people.  Why,  if  the  men  of  Taunton  declared  for  the 
duke  his  cause  was  already  won.  For  there  is  nowhere,  as  I 
could  not  fail  to  know,  a  greater  stronghold  of  Dissent  than  this 
town,  except  London,  and  none  where  the  Nonconformists  have 
more  injuries  to  remember.  Only  two  years  before  this  their 
meeting-houses  had  been  broken  into,  and  their  pulpits  and  pews 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  123 

brought  out  and  burned,  and  tbey  were  forced,  against  their  con- 
science, to  worship  in  tlie  parish  church. 

We  easily  found  Miss  Blake's  liouse,  and,  giving  our  horses 
to  the  guide,  we  presented  her  with  our  letter.  She  was  a  young 
woman  somewhat  below  the  common  stature,  quick  of  speech, 
her  face  and  eyes  full  of  vivacity,  and  about  thirty  years  of  age. 
But  when  she  had  read  the  letter,  and  understood  who  we  were 
and  whence  we  came,  she  first  made  a  deep  reverence  to  my 
mother,  and  then  she  took  my  hands  and  kissed  me. 

"  Madam,"  she  said,  "  believe  me,  my  poor  house  will  be  hon- 
ored indeed  by  the  presence  of  the  wife  and  the  daughter  of  the 
godly  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin.  Pray,  pray,  go  no  further.  I  have 
a  room  that  is  at  your  disposal.  Go  thither,  madam,  I  beg,  and 
rest  after  your  journey.  The  wife  of  Dr.  Eykin !  'Tis  indeed 
an  honor."  And  so,  with  the  kindest  words,  she  led  us  up- 
stairs, and  gave  us  a  room  with  a  bed  in  it,  and  caused  water 
for  washing  to  be  brought,  and  presently  went  out  with  me  to 
buy  certain  things  needful  for  us,  who  were  indeed  rustical  in 
our  dress,  to  present  the  appearance  of  gentlewomen  ;  thanks  to 
Barnaby's  heavy  purse,  I  could  get  them  without  telling  my 
mother  anything  about  it.  She  then  gave  us  supper,  and  told 
us  all  the  news.  The  king,  she  said,  was  horribly  afraid,  and  it 
was  rumored  that  the  priests  had  all  been  sent  away  to  France ; 
the  Taunton  people  were  resolved  to  give  the  duke  a  brave  re- 
ception ;  all  over  the  country,  there  was  no  doubt,  men  would 
rally  by  thousands ;  she  was  in  a  rapture  of  joy  and  gratitude. 
Supper  over,  she  took  us  to  her  schoolroom,  and  here — oh  !  the 
pretty  sight ! — her  schoolgirls  were  engaged  in  working  and  em- 
broidering flags  for  the  duke's  army. 

"  I  know  not,"  she  said,  "  whether  his  grace  will  condescend  to 
receive  them.  But  it  is  all  we  women  can  do."  Poor  wretch ! 
she  afterwards  suffered  the  full  penalty  for  her  zeal. 

All  that  evening  we  heard  the  noise  of  men  running  about  the 
toAvn,  with  the  clanking  of  weapons  and  the  commands  of  offi- 
cers ;  but  we  knew  not  what  had  happened. 

Lo !  in  the  morning  the  glad  tidings  that  the  militia  had  left 
the  town.  Nor  was  that  all ;  for  at  daybreak  the  people  began 
to  assemble,  and,  there  being  none  to  stay  them,  broke  into  the 
great  church,  and  took  possession  of  the  arms  that  had  been  de- 
posited for  safety  in  the  tower.     They  also  opened  the  prison, 


124  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

and  set  free  a  worthy  Nonconformist  divine  named  Vincent. 
All  the  morning  the  mob  ran  about  the  streets  shouting,  "  A 
Monmouth !  a  Monmouth  !"  the  magistrates  and  Royalists  not 
daring  so  much  as  to  show  their  faces,  and  there  v/as  nothing 
talked  of  but  the  overthrow  of  the  king  and  the  triumph  of  the 
Protestant  religion.  Nay,  there  were  fiery  speakers  in  the  mar- 
ket-place and  before  the  west  porch  of  the  church,who  mounted  on 
tubs  and  exhorted  the  people.  Grave  merchants  came  forth  and 
shook  hands  with  each  other  ;  ministers  who  had  been  in  hiding 
now  walked  forth  boldly.     It  was  truly  a  great  day  for  Taunton. 

The  excitement  grew  greater  when  Captain  Hucker,  a  well- 
known  serge-maker  of  the  town,  rode  in  with  a  troop  of  Mon- 
mouth's horse.  Captain  Hucker  had  been  seized  by  Colonel 
Phillips  on  the  charge  of  receiving  a  message  from  the  duke, 
but  he  escaped  and  joined  the  rebels,  to  his  greater  loss,  as 
afterwards  appeared.  However,  he  now  rode  in  to  tell  his  fel- 
low-townsmen of  his  own  wonderful  and  providential  escape,  and 
that  the  duke  would  certainly  arrive  the  next  day,  and  he  ex- 
horted them  to  give  him  such  a  welcome  as  he  had  a  right  to 
expect  at  their  hands.  He  also  reminded  them  that  they  were 
the  sons  of  the  men  who,  forty  years  before,  defended  Taunton 
under  Admiral  Blake.  There  was  a  great  shouting  and  tossing 
of  caps  after  Captain  Hucker's  address,  and  no  one  could  do  too 
much  for  the  horsemen  with  him,  so  that  I  fear  these  brave  fel- 
lows were  soon  fain  to  lie  down  and  sleep  till  the  fumes  of  the 
strong  ale  should  leave  their  brains. 

All  that  day  and  half  the  night  we  sat  in  Miss  Blake's  school- 
room finishing  the  flags,  in  which  I  was  permitted  to  join.  There 
were  twenty-seven  flags  in  all  presented  to  the  army  by  the  Taun- 
ton maids — twelve  by  Miss  Blake  and  fifteen  by  one  Mrs.  Mus- 
grave,  also  a  schoolmistress.  And  now,  indeed,  seeing  that  the 
militia  at  Axminster  had  fled  almost  at  the  mere  aspect  of  one 
man,  and  those  of  Taunton  had  also  fled  away  secretly  by  night, 
and,  catching  the  zeal  of  our  kind  entertainer,  and  considering 
the  courage  and  spirit  of  these  good  people,  I  began  to  feel  con- 
fident again,  and  my  heart,  which  had  fallen  very  low  at  the  sight 
of  the  duke's  hanging  head  and  gloomy  looks,  rose  again,  and 
all  dangers  seemed  to  vanish.  And  so,  in  a  mere  fool's  para- 
dise, I  continued  happy  indeed  until  the  fatal  news  of  Sedgemoor 
fight  awoke  us  all  from  our  fond  dreams. 


"Her  school-girls  were  engaged  in  working  and  embroidering  flagst  for  tJie 
Duke's  army." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  125 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


I  NEVER  weary  in  thinking  of  the  gayety  and  happiness  of 
those  four  days  at  Taunton  among  the  rebels.  There  was  no 
more  doubt  in  any  of  our  hearts ;  we  were  all  confident  of  vic- 
tory, and  that  easy,  and  perhaps  bloodless.  As  was  the  rejoic- 
ing at  Taunton,  so  it  would  be  in  every  town  of  the  country. 
One  only  had  to  look  out  of  window  in  order  to  feel  assurance 
of  that  victory,  so  jolly,  so  happy,  so  confident  looked  every 
face. 

"  Why,"  said  Miss  Blake,  "  in  future  ages  even  we  women, 
who  have  only  worked  the  flags,  will  be  envied  for  our  share  in 
the  glorious  deliverance.  Great  writers  will  speak  of  us  as  they 
speak  of  the  Roman  women."  Then  all  our  eyes  sparkled,  and 
the  needles  flew  faster,  and  the  flags  grew  nearer  to  completion. 

If  history  should  condescend  to  remember  the  poor  maids  of 
Taunton  at  all  it  will  be,  at  best,  with  pity  for  the  afflictions 
which  afterwards  fell  upon  them ;  none,  certainly,  will  envy 
them ;  but  we  shall  be  forgotten.  Why  should  we  be  remem- 
bered ?  Women,  it  is  certain,  have  no  business  with  affairs  of 
state,  and  especially  none  with  rebellions  and  civil  wars.  Our 
hearts  and  passions  carry  us  away.  The  leaders  in  the  cause 
which  we  have  joined  appear  to  us  to  be  more  than  human ;  we 
cannot  restrain  ourselves,  we  fall  down  and  worship  our  leaders, 
esjDccially  in  the  cause  of  religion  and  liberty. 

Now,  behold  !  On  the  very  morning  after  we  arrived  at  Taun- 
ton I  was  abroad  in  the  streets  with  Miss  Blake,  looking  at  the 
town,  which  hath  shops  full  of  the  most  beautiful  and  precious 
things,  and  wondering  at  the  great  concourse  of  people  (for  the 
looms  were  all  deserted,  and  the  workmen  were  in  the  streets 
filled  with  a  martial  spirit),  I  saw  riding  into  the  town  no  other 
than  Robin  himself.  Oh !  how  my  heart  leaped  up  to  see  him  ! 
He  was  most  gallantly  dressed,  in  a  purple  coat  with  a  crimson 


126  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

sash  over  liis  shoulders  to  carry  his  sword  ;  he  had  pistols  in  his 
holsters,  and  wore  great  riding-boots,  and  with  him  rode  a  com- 
pany of  a  dozen  young  men,  mounted  on  good,  strong  nags ; 
why,  they  were  men  of  our  own  village,  and  I  knew  them  every 
one.  They  were  armed  with  muskets  and  pikes — I  knew  where 
they  came  from — and  when  they  saw  me  the  fellows  all  began 
to  grin,  and  to  square  their  shoulders  so  as  to  look  more  martial. 
But  Robin  leaped  from  his  horse. 

"'Tis  Grace!"  he  cried.  "Dear  heart!  Thou  art  then  safe, 
so  far  ?  Madam,  your  servant."  Here  he  took  off  his  hat  to 
Miss  Blake.  "  Lads,  ride  on  to  the  White  Hart,  and  call  for 
what  you  want,  and  take  care  of  the  nags.  This  is  a  joyful 
meeting,  sweetheart."  Here  he  kissed  me.  "  The  duke,  they 
say,  draws  thousands  daily.  I  thought  to  find  him  in  Taunton 
by  this  time.  Why,  we  are  as  good  as  victorious  already. 
Humphrey,  I  take  it,  is  with  his  grace.  My  dear,  even  had  the 
cause  of  freedom  failed  to  move  me  I  had  been  dragged  by  the 
silken  ropes  of  love.  Truly,  I  could  not  choose  but  come. 
There  was  the  thought  of  these  brave  fellows  marching  to  bat- 
tle, and  I  all  the  time  skulking  at  home,  who  had  ever  been  so 
loud  upon  their  side.  And  there  was  the  thought  of  Humphrey, 
braving  the  dangers  of  the  field,  tender  though  he  be,  and  I, 
strong  and  lusty,  sitting  by  the  fire  and  sleeping  on  a  feather- 
bed ;  and  always  there  was  the  thought  of  thee,  my  dear,  among 
these  rude  soldiers — like  Milton's  lady  among  the  rabble  rout — 
because  well  I  know  that  even  Christian  warriors  (so  called)  are 
not  lambs ;  and,  again,  there  was  my  grandfather,  who  could 
find  no  rest,  but  continually  walked  to  and  fro,  with  looks  that 
at  one  time  said, '  Go,  my  son,'  and  at  others,  '  Nay  ;  lest  thou 
receive  a  hurt ;'  and  the  white  face  of  my  mother,  which  said, 
as  plain  as  eyes  could  speak, '  He  ought  to  go,  he  ought  to  go ; 
and  yet  he  may  be  killed.' " 

''  Oh,  Robin  !     Pray  God  there  prove  to  be  no  more  fighting." 
*'  Well,  my  dear,  if  I  am  not  tedious  to  madam  here — " 
"  Oh,  sir  !"  said  Miss  Blake,  "  it  is  a  joy  to  hear  this  talk." 
She  told  me,  afterwards,  that  it  was  a  joy  to  look  upon  so  gal- 
lant a  gentleman,  and  such  a  pair  of  lovers.     She,  poor  thing, 
had  no  sweetheart. 

"  Then  on  Monday,"  Robin  continued,  "  the  day  before  yester- 
day, 1  could  refrain  no  longer,  but  laid  the  matter  before  my 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  127 

grandfather.  Sweetheart !  there  is  no  better  man  in  all  the 
world." 

"  Of  that  I  am  -well  assured,  Robin." 

"  First,  he  said  that  if  anything  befell  me  he  should  go  down 
in  sorrow  to  his  grave  ;  yet  that  as  to  his  own  end  an  old  man 
so  near  the  gi'ave  should  not  be  concerned  about  the  manner  of 
his  end  so  long  as  he  should  keep  to  honor  and  duty.  Next, 
that  in  his  own  youth  he  had  himself  gone  forth  willingly  to 
fight  in  the  cause  of  liberty,  without  counting  the  risk.  Thirdly, 
that  if  my  conscience  did  truly  urge  me  to  follow  the  duke  I 
ought  to  obey  that  voice  in  the  name  of  God.  And  this  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  yet  a  lively  and  visible  satisfaction  that,  as 
he  himself  had  chosen,  so  his  grandson  would  choose,  '  Sir,'  I 
said,  '  that  voice  of  conscience  speaks  very  loudly  and  clearly. 
1  cannot  stifle  it.  Therefore,  by  your  good  leave,  I  will  go.' 
Then  he  bade  me  take  the  best  horse  in  the  stable,  and  gave  me 
a  purse  of  gold,  and  so  I  made  ready." 

Miss  Blake,  at  this  point,  said  that  she  was  reminded  of 
David.  It  was,  I  suppose,  because  Robin  was  so  goodly  a  lad 
to  look  upon  ;  otherwise,  David,  though  an  exile,  did  never  en- 
deavor to  pull  King  Saul  from  his  throne. 

"  Then,"  Robin  continued,  "  I  went  to  my  mother.  She  wept, 
because  war  hath  many  dangers  and  chances  ;  but  she  would  not 
say  me  '  nay.'  And  in  the  evening  when  the  men  came  home  I 
asked  who  would  go  with  me.  A  dozen  stout  fellows — you 
know  them  all,  sweetheart  —  stepped  forth  at  once;  another 
dozen  would  have  come,  but  their  wives  prevented  them.  And 
so,  mounting  them  on  good  cart-horses,  I  bade  farewell  and  rode 
away." 

"  Sir,"  said  Miss  Blake,  "  you  have  chosen  the  better  part. 
You  will  be  rewarded  by  so  splendid  a  victory  that  it  will  sur- 
prise all  the  world ;  and  for  the  rest  of  your  life — yes,  and  for 
generations  afterwards — you  will  be  ranked  among  the  deliverers 
of  your  country.  It  is  a  great  privilege,  sir,  to  take  part  in  the 
noblest  passage  of  English  history.  Oh !" — she  clasped  her 
hands — "  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  not  a  man,  only  because  I  would 
strike  a  blow  in  this  sacred  cause.  But  we  are  women,  and  we 
can  but  pray,  and  make  flags.     We  cannot  die  for  the  cause." 

The  event  proved  that  women  can  sometimes  die  for  the  cause, 
because  she  herself,  if  any  woman  ever  did,  died  for  her  cause. 


128  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Then  Robin  left  us  in  order  to  take  steps  about  his  men  and 
himself.  Captain  Hucker  received  them  in  the  name  of  the 
duke.  They  joined  the  cavalry,  and  Robin  was  made  a  captain. 
This  done,  he  rode  out  with  the  rest  to  meet  the  duke. 

Now,  when  his  approach  was  known  everybody  who  had  a 
horse  rode  forth  to  meet  him,  so  that  there  followed  him,  not 
counting  his  army,  so  great  a  company  that  they  almost  made 
another  army.  Lord  Grey  rode  on  one  side  of  him,  and  Colonel 
Speke  on  the  other ;  Dr.  Hooke,  the  chaplain,  and  my  father 
rode  behind.  My  heart  swelled  with  joy  to  hear  how  the  people, 
when  they  had  shouted  themselves  hoarse,  cried  out  for  my 
father,  because  his  presence  showed  that  they  would  have  once 
more  that  liberty  of  worship  for  Avant  of  which  they  had  so  long 
languished.  The  duke's  own  chaplain,  Mr.  Ferguson,  had  got  a 
naked  sword  in  his  hand,  and  was  marching  on  foot,  crying  out, 
in  a  most  vainglorious  manner,  "  I  am  Ferguson,  the  famous 
Ferguson,  that  Ferguson  for  whose  head  so  many  hundred 
pounds  were  offered.  I  am  that  man !  I  am  that  man !"  He 
wore  a  great  gown  and  cassock,  which  consorted  ill  with  the 
sword  in  his  hand  ;  and  in  the  evening  he  preached  in  the  great 
church,  while  my  father  preached  in  the  old  meeting-house  to  a 
much  larger  congregation,  and,  I  venture  to  think,  a  much  more 
edifying  discourse. 

The  army  marched  through  the  town  in  much  the  same  order 
as  it  had  marched  out  of  Lyme,  and  it  seemed  not  much  bigger, 
but  the  men  marched  more  orderly  and  there  was  less  laugliing 
and  shouting.  But  the  streets  were  so  thronged  that  the  men 
could  hardly  make  their  way. 

As  soon  as  it  was  reported  that  the  duke  was  witliin  a  mile 
(they  had  that  day  marched  sixteen  miles,  from  Ilminster)  the 
church  bells  were  set  a-ringing ;  children  came  out  with  baskets 
of  flowers  in  readiness  to  strew  them  at  his  feet  as  he  should 
pass — roses  and  lilies  and  all  kinds  of  summer  flowers,  so  that 
his  horse  had  most  delicate  carpet  to  walk  upon  ;  the  common 
people  crowded  the  sides  of  the  streets  ;  the  windows  were  filled 
with  ladies  who  waved  their  handkerchiefs  and  called  aloud  on 
Heaven  to  bless  the  good  duke,  the  brave  duke,  the  sweet  and 
lovely  duke.  If  there  were  any  malcontents  in  the  town  they 
kept  snug ;  it  would  have  cost  them  dear  even  to  have  been  seen 
in  the  streets  that  day.     The  duke  showed  on  this  occasion  a 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  129 

face  full  of  hope  and  happiness ;  indeed,  if  he  had  not  shown  a 
cheerful  countenance  on  such  a  day,  he  would  have  been  some- 
thing less,  or  something  greater,  than  human.  I  mean  that  he 
would  have  been  either  insensible  and  blockish  not  to  be  moved 
by  such  a  welcome,  or  else  he  would  have  been  a  prophet,  as 
foreseeing  what  would  follow.  He  rode  bareheaded,  carrying 
his  hat  in  his  hand ;  he  was  dressed  in  a  shining  corslet  with  a 
blue  silk  scarf  and  a  purple  coat ;  his  long  brown  hair  hung  in 
curls  upon  his  shoulders ;  his  sweet  lips  were  parted  with  a 
gracious  smile  ;  his  beautiful  brown  eyes — never  had  any  prince 
more  lovely  eyes — looked  pleased  and  benignant ;  truly  there 
was  never  made  any  man  more  comely  than  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth. The  face  of  his  father,  and  that  of  his  uncle.  King 
James,  were  dark  and  gloomy,  but  the  duke's  face  was  naturally 
bright  and  cheerful ;  King  Charles's  long  nose  in  him  was  soft- 
ened and  reduced  to  the  projDortions  of  manly  beauty  ;  in  short, 
there  was  no  feature  that  in  his  father  was  harsh  and  unpleas- 
ing  but  was  in  him  sweet  and  beautiful.  If  I  had  thought  him 
comely  and  like  a  king's  son  when  four  years  before  he  made 
his  progress,  I  thought  him  now  ten  times  as  gracious  and  as 
beautiful.  He  was  thinner  in  the  face,  which  gave  his  appearance 
the  greater  dignity  ;  he  had  ever  the  most  gracious  smile  and  the 
most  charming  eyes ;  and  at  such  a  moment  as  this  who  could 
believe  the  things  which  they  said  about  his  wife  and  Lady 
Wentworth  ?  No — they  were  inventions  of  his  enemies ;  they 
must  be  base  lies ;  so  noble  a  presence  could  not  conceal  a  guilty 
heart;  he  must  be  as  good  and  virtuous  as  he  was  brave  and 
lovely.  Thus  we  talked,  sitting  in  the  window,  and  thus  we 
cheered  our  souls.  Even  now,  to  think  how  great  and  good  he 
looked  on  that  day,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  he  was  in  some 
matters  so  vile.  I  am  not  of  those  who  expect  one  kind  of 
moral  conduct  from  one  man  and  a  different  kind  from  another  : 
there  is  but  one  set  of  commandments  for  rich  and  poor,  for 
prince  and  peasant.  But  the  pity  of  it,  oh  !  the  pity  of  it,  with 
a  prince ! 

Never,  in  short,  did  one  see  such  a  tumult  of  joy ;  it  is  im- 
possible to  speak  otherwise :  the  people  had  lost  their  wits  with 
excess  of  joy.  Nor  did  they  show  their  welcome  in  shouting 
only,  for  all  doors  were  thrown  wide  open  and  supplies  and 
necessaries  of  all  kinds  were  sent  to  the  soldiers  in  the  camp 
6*  1 


130  FOR    FAITII    AND    FREEDOM. 

outside  the  town,  so  tliat  tlie  country  lads  declared  they  liad 
never  fared  more  sumptuously.  There  now  rode  after  the  duke 
several  Nonconformist  ministers,  beside  my  father.  Thus  there 
was  the  pious  Mr.  Lark,  of  Lyme :  he  was  an  aged  Baptist 
preacher,  who  thought  it  no  shame  to  his  profession  to  gird  on 
a  sword  and  to  command  a  troop  of  horse ;  and  others  there 
were,  whose  names  I  forget,  who  had  come  forth  to  join  the 
deliverer. 

In  the  market-place  the  duke  halted,  while  his  declaration  was 
read  aloud.  One  thing  I  could  not  approve.  They  dragged 
forth  three  of  the  justices — High  Churchmen,  and  standing 
stoutly  for  King  James — and  forced  them  to  listen,  bareheaded, 
to  the  declaration  ;  a  thing  which  came  near  afterw^ards  to  their 
destruction.  Yet  they  looked  sour  and  unwilling,  as  any  one 
would  have  testified.  The  declaration  was  a  long  document, 
and  the  reading  of  it  took  half  an  hour  at  least ;  but  the  people 
cheered  all  the  time. 

After  this  they  read  a  proclamation,  warning  the  soldiers 
against  taking  aught  without  payment.  But  Robin  laughed, 
saying  that  this  was  the  way  with  armies,  where  the  general  was 
always  on  the  side  of  virtue,  j- et  the  soldiers  were  always  yield- 
ing to  temptation  in  the  matter  of  sheep  and  poultry ;  that  human 
nature  must  not  be  too  much  tempted,  and  camp  rations  are 
sometimes  scanty.  But  it  was  a  noble  proclamation,  and  I  can- 
not but  believe  that  the  robberies  afterwards  complained  of  were 
committed  by  the  tattered  crew  who  followed  the  camp,  rather 
than  by  the  brave  fellows  themselves. 

The  duke  lay  at  Captain  Hucker's  house,  over  against  the 
Three  Cups  Inn.  This  was  a  great  honor  for  Mr.  Ilucker,  a 
plain  serge-maker,  and  there  were  many  who  were  envious,  think- 
ing that  the  duke  should  not  have  gone  to  the  house  of  so  hum- 
ble a  person.  It  was  also  said  that  for  his  services  Mr.  Ilucker 
boasted  that  he  should  expect  nothing  less  than  a  coronet  and 
the  title  of  peer,  once  the  business  was  safely  despatched.  A 
peer  to  be  made  out  of  a  master  serge-maker !  But  we  must 
charitably  refuse  to  believe  all  that  is  reported,  and,  indeed  (I 
say  it  with  sorrow  of  that  most  unfortunate  lady.  Miss  Blake), 
much  idle  tattle  concerning  neighbors  was  carried  on  in  her 
house,  and  I  was  told  that  it  was  the  same  in  every  house  of 
Taunton,  so  that  the  women  spent  all  their  time  in  talking  of 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  131 

their  neighbors'  affairs,  and  what  might  he  going  on  in  the 
houses  of  their  friends.  This  is  a  kind  of  talk  which  my  father 
would  never  permit,  as  testifying  to  idle  curiosity  and  leading 
to  undue  importance  concerning  things  which  are  fleeting  and 
trivial. 

Uowever,  the  duke  was  bestowed  in  Captain  Hacker's  best 
bed ;  of  that  there  was  no  doubt,  and  the  bells  rang  and  bon- 
fires blazed,  and  the  people  sang  and  shouted  in  the  streets. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE      MAIDS      OF     TAUNTON. 


The  next  day  was  made  remarkable  in  our  eyes  by  an  event 
which,  though  doubtless  of  less  importance  than  the  enlistment 
of  a  dozen  recruits,  seemed  a  very  great  thing  indeed — namely, 
the  presentation  to  the  duke  of  the  colors  embroidered  for  him 
by  Susan  Blake's  schoolgirls.  I  was  myself  permitted  to  walk 
with  the  girls  on  this  occasion,  as  if  I  had  been  one  of  them, 
though  a  stranger  to  the  place  and  but  newly  arrived — such  was 
the  kindness  of  Susan  Blake  and  her  respect  for  the  name  of  the 
learned  and  pious  Dr.  Eykin. 

At  nine  of  the  clock  the  girls  who  were  to  carry  the  flags  be- 
gan to  gather  in  the  schoolroom.  There  were  twenty-seven  in 
all,  but  twelve  only  were  the  pupils  of  Miss  Blake.  The  others 
were  the  pupils  of  Mrs.  Musgrave,  another  schoolmistress  in 
the  town.  I  remember  not  the  names  of  all  the  girls,  but  some 
of  them  I  remember.  One  was  Katharine  Bovet,  daughter  of 
Colonel  Bovet :  she  it  was  who  walked  first  and  named  those 
who  followed  ;  there  was  also  Mary  Blake,  cousin  of  Susan,  who 
was  afterw^ards  thrown  into  prison  with  her  cousin,  but  presently 
was  pardoned.  Miss  Hucker,  daughter  of  Captain  Hucker,  the 
master  serge-maker  who  entertained  the  duke,  was  another — these 
were  of  the  White  Regiment ;  there  were  three  daughters  of 
Captain  Herring,  two-  daughters  of  Mr.  Thomas  Baker,  one  of 
Monmouth's  privy-councillors ;  Mary  Meade  was  the  girl  who 
carried  the  famous  golden  flag ;  and  others  whom  I  have  for- 
gotten. "WHien  we  were  assembled,  being  dressed  all  in  white, 
and  each  maid  wearing  the  Monmouth  colors,  we  took  our  flags 


132  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

and  sallied  forth.  In  the  street  there  was  almost  as  great  a 
crowd  to  look  on  as  the  day  before,  when  the  duke  rode  in ; 
and,  certainly,  it  was  a  very  pretty  sight  to  see.  First  marched 
a  man  playing  on  the  croud  very  briskly ;  after  him,  one  who 
beat  a  tabor,  and  one  who  played  a  fife ;  so  that  we  had  music 
on  our  march.  AVhen  the  music  stopped  we  lifted  our  voices 
and  sang  a  psalm  all  together ;  that  done  the  crouder  began 
again. 

As  for  the  procession,  no  one  surely  had  ever  seen  the  like  of 
it.  After  the  music  walked  six-and-twenty  girls,  the  youngest 
eight  and  the  oldest  not  more  than  twelve.  They  marched  two 
by  two,  very  orderly,  all  dressed  in  white  with  blue  favors,  and 
every  girl  carrying  in  her  hands  a  flag  of  silk  embroidered  by 
herself,  assisted  by  Miss  Blake  or  some  other  older  person,  with 
devices  appropriate  to  the  nature  of  the  enterprise  in  hand.  For 
one  flag  had  upon  it,  truly  figured  in  scarlet  silk,  an  open  Bible, 
because  it  was  for  liberty  to  read  and  expound  that  book  that 
the  men  were  going  forth  to  fight.  Upon  another  was  embroid- 
ered a  great  cross ;  upon  a  third  were  the  arms  of  the  duke ;  a 
fourth  bore  upon  it,  to  show  the  zeal  of  the  people,  the  arms  of 
the  town  of  Taunton ;  and  a  fifth  had  both  a  Bible  and  a  drawn 
sword  ;  and  so  forth,  every  one  with  a  legend  embroidered  upon 
it  plain  for  all  to  read.  The  flags  were  affixed  to  stout  white 
staves,  and  as  the  girls  walked  apart  from  each  other  and  at  a 
due  distance  the  flags,  all  flying  in  the  wind,  made  a  pretty  sight 
indeed,  so  that  some  of  the  women  who  looked  on  shed  tears. 
Among  the  flags  was  one  which  I  needs  must  mention,  because, 
unless  the  device  was  communicated  by  some  person  deep  in  the 
duke's  counsels,  it  most  strangely  jumped  with  the  event  of  the 
following  day,  Mary  Meade,  poor  child,  carried  it.  We  called 
it  the  Golden  Flag,  because  it  had  a  crown  worked  in  gold  thread 
upon  it  and  the  letters  "J,  R,"  A  fringe  of  lace  was  sewn 
round  it,  so  that  it  was  the  richest  flag  of  all.  What  could  the 
crown  with  the  letters  "  J.  R,"  mean,  but  that  James,  Duke  of 
Monmouth,  would  shortly  assume  the  crown  of  these  three 
kingdoms  ? 

Last  of  all  walked  Miss  Susan  Blake,  and  I  by  her  side.  She 
bore  in  one  hand  a  Bible  bound  in  red  leather  stamped  with 
gold,  and  in  the  other  a  naked  sword. 

The  duke  came  forth  to  meet  us  standing  bareheaded  before 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  133 

the  porch.  There  were  standing  beside  and  behind  liim  the 
Lord  Grey,  his  two  chaplains,  Dr.  Hooke  and  Mr.  Ferguson,  and 
my  father,  Mr.  Larke,  the  Baptist  minister  of  Lyme  Regis  (he 
wore  a  corslet  and  carried  a  sword),  and  the  colonels  of  his  regi- 
ment. Ilis  bodyguard  were  drawn  up  across  the  street,  looking 
brave  and  splendid  in  their  new  favors.  The  varlets  waited  be- 
yond with  the  horses  for  the  duke's  party.  Who,  to  look  upon 
the  martial  array,  the  bravery  of  the  guard,  the  gallant  bearing 
of  all,  the  confidence  in  their  looks,  and  the  presence,  which 
should  surely  bring  a  blessing,  of  the  ministers  of  religion, 
would  think  that  all  this  pomp  and  promise  could  be  shattered 
at  a  single  blow  ? 

As  each  girl  advanced  in  her  turn  she  knelt  on  one  knee  and 
offered  her  flag,  bowing  her  head  (we  had  practised  this  cere- 
mony several  times  at  the  school  until  we  were  all  quite  perfect 
in  our  parts).  Then  the  duke  stepped  forward  and  raised  her, 
tenderly  kissing  her.  Then  she  stood  aside,  holding  her  flag 
still  in  her  hands. 

My  turn — because  I  had  no  flag — came  last  but  one,  Miss  Su- 
san Blake  being  the  last.  Now — I  hope  it  was  not  folly  or  a 
vainglorious  desire  to  be  distinguished  by  any  particular  notice 
of  his  grace — I  could  not  refrain  from  hanging  the  ring  which 
the  duke  had  given  me  at  Ilchester  five  years  ago  outside  my 
dress  by  a  blue  ribbon.  Miss  Blake,  to  whom  I  had  told  the 
story  of  the  ring,  advised  me  to  do  so,  partly  to  show  my  loy- 
alty to  the  duke,  and  partly  because  it  was  a  pretty  thing  and 
one  which  some  women  would  much  desire  to  possess. 

Miss  Katharine  Bovet  informed  the  duke  that  I  was  the 
daughter  of  the  learned  preacher,  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin.  When  I 
knelt  he  raised  me.  Then,  as  he  was  about  to  salute  me,  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  ring,  and  he  looked  first  at  me  and  then  at 
the  ring. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  this  ring  I  ought  to  know.  If  I  mistake 
not,  there  are  the  initials  of  '  J.  S.'  upon  it  ?" 

"  Sir,"  I  replied,  "  the  ring  was  your  own.  Your  grace  was 
so  good  as  to  bestow  it  upon  me  in  your  progress  through  the 
town  of  Ilchester,  five  years  ago." 

"  Gad  so  !"  he  said,  laughing ;  "  I  remember  now.  'Twas  a 
sweet  and  lovely  child  whom  I  kissed — and  now  thou  art  a  sweet 
and  lovely  maiden.     Art  thou  truly  the  daughter  of  Dr.  Comfort 


134  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Eykin  ?" — lie  looked  behind  him  ;  but  my  father  neither  heard 
nor  attended,  being  wrapped  in  thought.  "  'Tis  strange :  his 
daughter !  'Tis,  indeed,  wonderful  that  such  a  child  should — '' 
Here  he  stopped.  "  Fair  Rose  of  Somerset  I  called  thee  then. 
Fair  Rose  of  Somerset  I  call  thee  again.  Why,  if  I  could  place 
thee  at  the  head  of  my  army  all  England  would  certainly  follow, 
as  if  Helen  of  Troy  or  Queen  Venus  herself  did  lead."  So  he 
kissed  me  on  the  cheek  with  much  warmth — more,  indeed,  than 
was  necessary  to  show  a  gracious  and  friendly  good-will ;  and 
suffered  me  to  step  aside.  "  Dr.  Eykin's  daughter !"  he  repeat- 
ed, with  a  kind  of  wonder.  "  Why  should  not  Dr.  Eykin  have 
a  daughter  ?" 

When  I  told  Robin  of  this  gracious  salutation  he  first  turned 
very  red  and  then  he  laughed.  Then  he  said  that  everybody 
knew  the  duke,  but  he  must  not  attempt  any  court  freedoms  in 
the  Protestant  camp ;  and  if  he  were  to  try —  Then  he  broke 
off  short,  changed  color  again,  and  then  he  kissed  me,  saying 
that,  of  course,  the  duke  meant  nothing  but  kindliness,  but  that, 
for  his  own  part,  he  desired  not  his  sweetheart  to  be  kissed  by 
anybody  but  himself.  So  I  suppose  my  boy  was  jealous.  But 
the  folly  of  being  jealous  of  so  great  a  prince,  who  could  not 
possibly  have  the  least  regard  for  a  simple  country  maiden,  and 
who  had  known  the  great  and  beautiful  court  ladies :  it  made 
me  laugh  to  think  that  Robin  could  be  so  foolish  as  to  be  jeal- 
ous of  the  duke. 

Then  it  was  Miss  Susan  Blake's  turn.  She  stepped  forward 
very  briskly,  and  knelt  down  and  placed  the  Bible  in  the  duke's 
left  hand  and  the  sword  in  his  right. 

"  Sir,"  she  said  (speaking  the  words  we  had  made  up  and  she 
had  learned),  "it  is  in  the  name  of  the  women  of  Taunton — 
nay,  of  the  women  of  all  England — that  I  give  you  the  Book  of 
the  W^ord  of  God,  the  most  precious  treasure  vouchsafed  to  man, 
so  that  all  may  learn  that  you  are  come  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  maintain  the  right  of  the  English  people  to  search  the 
Scriptures  for  themselves,  and  I  give  you  also,  sir,  a  sword  with 
which  to  defend  those  rights.  In  addition,  sir,  the  women  can 
only  give  your  grace  the  offering  of  their  continual  prayers  in 
behalf  of  the  cause,  and  for  the  safety  and  prosperity  of  your 
highness  and  your  army." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  duke,  much  moved  by  this  spectacle  of 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  135 

devotion,  "  I  am  come,  believe  me,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
defend  the  truths  contained  in  this  book,  and  to  seal  my  defence 
with  my  blood,  if  that  need  be." 

Then  the  duke  mounted  and  vvc  marched  behind  him  in  single 
file,  each  girl  led  by  a  soldier,  till  we  came  to  the  camp,  when 
our  flags  were  taken  from  us  and  we  returned  home  and  took 
oil  our  white  dresses.  I  confess  that  I  laid  mine  down  with  a 
sigh.  White  becomes  every  maiden,  and  my  only  wear  till  then 
had  been  of  russet  brown.  And  all  that  day  we  acted  over 
again — in  our  talk  and  in  our  thoughts — our  beautiful  proces- 
sion, and  we  rej)eated  the  condescending  words  of  the  duke, 
and  admired  the  graciousness  of  his  kisses,  and  praised  each 
other  for  our  admirable  behavior,  and  listened,  with  pleasure  un- 
speakable, while  Susan  Blake  prophesied  that  we  should  become 
immortal  by  the  ceremony  of  that  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

KING    MONMOUTH    AND    HIS    CAMP. 

Next  day,  the  town  being  thronged  with  people  and  the 
young  men  pressing  in  from  all  quarters  to  enroll  themselves 
(over  four  thousand  joined  the  colors  at  Taunton  alone),  another 
proclamation  was  r6ad — that,  namely,  by  which  the  duke  claimed 
the  throne.  Many  opinions  have  been  given  as  to  this  step. 
For  the  duke's  enemies  maintain,  first,  that  his  mother  was 
never  married  to  King  Charles  the  Second  (indeed,  there  is  no 
doubt  that  the  king  always  denied  the  marriage)  ;  next,  that  an 
illegitimate  son  could  never  be  permitted  to  sit  upon  the  ancient 
throne  of  this  realm  ;  and,  thirdly,  that  in  usurping  the  crown 
the  duke  broke  faith  with  his  friends,  to  whom  he  had  solemnly 
given  his  word  that  he  would  not  put  forward  any  such  preten- 
sions. Nay,  some  have  gone  so  far  as  to  allege  that  he  was  not 
the  son  of  Charles  at  all,  but  of  some  other  whom  they  even 
name ;  and  they  have  pointed  to  his  face  as  showing  no  resem- 
blance at  all  to  that  swarthy  and  gloomy-looking  king.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  duke's  friends  say  that  there  were  in  his  hands 
clear  proof  of  the  marriage ;  that  the  promise  given  to  his 
friends  was  conditional,  and  one  which  could  be  set  aside  by 


136  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

circumstances  ;  that  the  country  gentry,  to  whom  a  republic  was 
most  distasteful,  were  afraid  that  he  designed  to  re-establish 
that  form  of  government ;  and,  further,  that  his  friends  were  all 
fully  aware,  from  the  beginning,  of  his  intentions. 

On  these  points  I  know  nothing ;  but  when  a  thing  has  been 
done,  it  is  idle  to  spend  time  in  arguing  that  it  was  well  or  ill 
done.  James,  Duke  of  Monmouth,  was  now  James,  King  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland ;  and  if  we  were  all  rebels  before,  who 
had  risen  in  the  name  of  religion  and  liberty,  I  suppose  we  were 
all  ten  times  as  much  rebels  now,  when  we  had,  in  addition,  set 
up  another  king,  and  declared  King  James  to  be  an  usurper,  and 
no  more  than  the  Duke  of  York.  Nay,  that  there  might  be 
wanting  no  single  circumstance  of  aggravation,  it  was  in  this 
proclamation  declared  that  the  Duke  of  York  had  caused  his 
brother,  the  late  king,  to  be  secretly  poisoned.  I  know  not 
what  foundation  exists  for  this  accusation  ;  but  I  have  been  told 
that  it  gave  offence  unto  many,  and  that  it  was  an  ill-advised 
thing  to  say. 

The  proclamation  was  read  aloud  at  the  market  cross  by  Mr. 
Tyler,  of  Taunton,  on  the  Saturday  morning,  before  a  great  con- 
course of  people.  It  ended  with  the  words,  "  We  therefore, 
the  noblemen,  gentlemen,  and  commons  at  present  assembled, 
in  the  names  of  ourselves  and  of  all  the  loyal  and  Protestant 
noblemen,  gentlemen,  and  commons  of  England,  in  pursuance 
of  our  duty  and  allegiance,  and  for  the  delivering  of  the  kingdom 
from  popery,  tyranny,  and  oppression,  do  recognize,  publish,  and 
proclaim  the  said  high  and  mighty  Prince  James,  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth, as  lawful  and  rightful  sovereign  and  king,  by  the  name 
of  James  II.,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  England,  Scotland, 
France,  and  Ireland,  Defender  of  the  Faith.  God  save  the 
King  !" 

After  this  the  duke  was  always  saluted  as  king,  prayed  for 
as  king,  and  styled  "  his  majesty."  He  also  touched  some 
(as  only  the  king  can  do)  for  the  king's-evil,  and,  it  is  said, 
wrought  many  miracles  of  healing — a  thing  which,  being  noised 
abroad,  should  have  strengthened  the  faith  of  the  people  in 
him.  But  the  malignity  of  our  enemies  caused  these  cases  of 
healing  to  be  denied,  or  else  explained  as  fables  and  inventions 
of  the  duke's  friends. 

Among  the  accessions  of  this  day  was  one  which  I  cannot  for- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  137 

bear  to  mention.  It  was  that  of  an  old  soldier  who  had  been 
one  of  Cromwell's  captams,  Colonel  Basset  by  name.  He  rode 
in — being  a  man  advanced  in  years,  yet  still  strong  and  hale — 
at  the  head  of  a  considerable  company  raised  by  himself.  'Twas 
hoped  that  his  example  would  be  followed  by  the  adhesion  of 
many  more  of  CromAvell's  men,  but  the  event  proved  otherwise. 
Perhaps,  being  old  Republicans,  they  were  deterred  by  the 
proclamation  of  Monmouth  as  king.  Perhaps  they  had  grown 
slothful  with  age,  and  were  now  unwilling  to  face  once  more  the 
dangers  and  fatigues  of  a  campaign.  Another  recruit  was  the 
once-famous  Colonel  Perrot,  who  had  been  engaged  with  Colonel 
Blood  in  the  robbery  of  the  crown  jewels — though  the  addition 
of  a  robber  to  our  army  was  not  a  matter  of  pride.  He  came,  it 
was  afterwards  said,  because  he  was  desperate,  his  fortunes 
broken,  and  with  no  other  hope  than  to  follow  the  fortunes  of 
the  duke. 

It  became  known  in  the  course  of  the  day  that  the  army  was 
to  march  on  the  Sunday.  Therefore,  everybody  on  Saturday 
evening  repaired  to  the  camp  :  some  to  bid  farewell  and  God- 
speed to  their  friends,  and  others  to  witness  the  humors  of  a 
camp.  I  was  fortunate  in  having  Robin  for  a  companion  and 
protector — the  place  being  rough  and  the  behavior  and  language 
of  the  men  coarse  even  beyond  what  one  expects  at  a  country 
fair.  The  recruits  still  kept  pouring  in  from  all  parts ;  but,  as 
I  have  already  said,  many  were  disheartened  when  they  found 
that  there  were  no  arms,  and  went  home  again.  They  were  not 
all  riotous  and  disorderly.  Some  of  the  men,  those,  namely,  who 
were  older  and  more  sober-minded,  we  found  gathered  together 
in  groups,  earnestly  engaged  in  conversation. 

"  They  are  considering  the  proclamation,"  said  Robin.  "  Truly, 
we  did  not  expect  that  our  duke  would  so  soon  become  king. 
They  say  he  is  illegitimate.  What  then  ?  Let  him  mount  the 
throne  by  right  of  arms,  as  Oliver  Cromwell  could  have  done 
had  he  pleased — who  asks  whether  Oliver  was  illegitimate  or 
no  ?  The  country  will  not  have  another  commonwealth — and  it 
will  no  longer  endure  a  Catholic  king.  Let  us  have  King  Mon- 
mouth, then  :  who  is  there  better  ?" 

In  all  the  camp  there  was  none  who  spoke  with  greater  cheer- 
fulness and  confidence  than  Robin.     Yet  he  did  not  disaruise 

O 

from  himself  that  there  might  be  warm  work. 


138  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  The  kind's  troops,"  he  said,  "  are  closing  in  all  round  us. 
That  is  certain.  Yet,  even  if  they  all  join  we  are  still  more  nu- 
merous and  in  much  better  heart;  of  that  I  am  assured.  At 
Wellington,  the  Duke  of  Albemarle  commands  the  Devonshire 
Militia ;  Lord  Churchill  is  at  Chard  with  the  Somerset  Regiment ; 
Lord  Bath  is  reported  to  be  marching  upon  us  with  the  Cornish- 
men  ;  the  Duke  of  Beaufort  hath  the  Gloucester  Militia  at  Bris- 
tol ;  Lord  Pembroke  is  at  Chippenham  with  the  Wiltshire  Train- 
bands ;  Lord  Feversham  is  on  the  march  with  the  king's  stand- 
ing army.  What  then  ?  are  these  men  Protestants  or  are  they 
Papists  ?     Answer  me  that,  sweetheart." 

Alas !  had  they  been  true  Protestants  there  would  have  been 
such  an  answer  as  would  have  driven  King  James  across  the 
water  three  years  sooner. 

The  camp  was  now  like  a  fair,  only  much  finer  and  bigger 
than  any  fair  I  have  ever  seen.  That  of  Lyme-Regis  could  not 
be  compared  with  it.  There  were  booths  where  they  sold  ginger- 
bread, cakes,  ale,  and  cider ;  Monmouth  favors  for  the  recruits 
to  sew  upon  their  hats  or  sleeves ;  shoes  and  stockings  were 
sold  in  some,  and  even  chap-books  were  displayed.  Men  and 
women  carried  about  in  baskets  last  year's  withered  apples,  with 
Kentish  cobs  and  walnuts;  there  were  booths  where  they  fried 
sausages  and  roasted  pork  all  day  long ;  tumblers  and  clowns 
were  performing  in  others  ;  painted  and  dressed-up  girls  danced 
in  others ;  there  was  a  bull-baiting ;  a  man  was  making  a  fiery 
oration  on  the  duke's  proclamation  :  but  I  saw  no  one  preaching 
a  sermon.  There  were  here  and  there  companies  of  country 
lads  exercising  with  pike  and  halbert ;  and  others,  inore  ad- 
vanced, with  the  loading  and  firing  of  their  muskets.  There 
were  tables  at  which  sat  men  with  cards  and  dice,  gambling; 
shouting  when  they  won  and  cursing  when  they  lost ;  others,  of 
more  thrifty  mind,  sat  on  the  ground  practising  their  trade  of 
tailor  or  cobbler — thus  losing  no  money,  though  they  did  go  sol- 
diering ;  some  polished  weapons  and  sharpened  swords,  pikes, 
and  scythes ;  nowhere  did  we  find  any  reading  the  Bible,  or 
singing  hymns,  or  listening  to  sermons.  Save  for  the  few  groups 
of  sober  men  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  the  love  of  amusement 
carried  all  away  ;  and  the  officers  of  the  army,  who  might  have 
turned  them  back  to  sober  thought,  were  not  visible.  Every- 
where noise ;   everywhere  beating  of  drums,  playing  of  pipes, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  139 

singing  of  songs,  bawling,  and  laugliing.  Among  the  men  there 
ran  about  a  number  of  saucy  gypsy  girls,  their  brown  faces  show- 
ing under  red  kerchiefs,  their  black  eyes  twinkling  (truly  they 
are  pretty  creatures  to  look  upon  when  they  are  young  ;  but  they 
have  no  religion,  and  say  of  themselves  that  they  have  no  souls). 
These  girls  talked  with  each  other  in  their  own  language,  which 
none  out  of  their  own  nation — except  the  tinker-folk,  who  are 
said  to  be  their  cousins — understand.  But  English  they  talk  very 
well,  and  they  are  so  clever  that,  it  is  said,  they  will  talk  to  a 
Somersetshire  man  in  good  broad  Somerset,  and  to  a  man  of 
Norfolk  in  his  own  speech,  though  he  of  Norfolk  would  not  un- 
derstand him  of  Somerset. 

"  They  are  the  vultures,"  said  Robin,  "  who  follow  for  prey. 
Before  the  battle  these  women  cajole  the  soldiers  out  of  their 
money,  and  after  the  battle  their  men  rob  and  even  murder  the 
wounded  and  plunder  the  dead." 

Then  one  of  them  ran  and  stood  before  us. 

"  Let  me  tell  thy  fortune,  handsome  gentleman  ?  Let  me  tell 
thine,  fair  lady  ?  A  sixpence  or  a  groat  to  cross  my  palm,  cap- 
tain, and  you  shall  know  all  that  is  to  happen." 

Robin  laughed,  but  gave  her  sixpence. 

"  Look  me  in  the  face,  fair  lady  " — she  spoke  good,  plain  Eng- 
lish, this  black-eyed  wench,  though  but  a  moment  before  she  had 
been  talking  broad  Somerset  to  a  young  recruit — "  look  me  in 
the  face  ;  yes.  All  is  not  smooth.  He  loves  you  ;  but  there  will 
be  separation  and  trouble.  One  comes  between,  a  big  man  with 
a  red  face  ;  he  parts  you.  There  is  a  wedding,  I  see  your  lady- 
ship plain.  Why,  you  are  crying  at  it,  you  cry  all  the  time  ;  but 
I  do  not  see  this  gentleman.  Then  there  is  another  wedding — 
yes,  another — and  I  see  you  at  both.  You  will  be  twice  married. 
Yet  be  of  good  heart,  fair  lady." 

She  turned  away  and  ran  after  another  couple,  no  doubt  with 
much  the  same  tale. 

"  How  should  there  be  a  wedding,"  I  asked,  "  if  I  am  there 
and  you  not  there,  Robin — and  I  to  be  crying  ?  And  how  could 
I — oh  !  Robin — how  could  I  be  married  twice  ?" 

"  Nay,  sweetheart,  she  could  not  tell  what  wedding  it  was. 
She  only  uttered  the  gibberish  of  her  trade ;  I  am  sorry  that  I 
wasted  a  sixpence  upon  her." 

"  Robin,  is  it  magic  that  they  practise — these  gypsies  ?     Do 


140  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

they  traffic  with  the  devil  ?     We  ought  not  to  suffer  witches  to 
live  among  us." 

"  Most  are  of  opinion  that  they  have  no  other  magic  than  the 
art  of  guessing,  which  they  learn  to  do  very  quickly,  putting 
things  together,  from  their  appearance  ;  so  that  if  brother  and 
sister  walk  out  together  they  are  taken  to  be  lovers,  and  promised 
a  happy  marriage  and  many  children." 

That  may  be  so,  and  perhaps  the  fortune  told  by  this  gypsy 
was  only  guesswork.  But  I  cannot  believe  it;  for  the  event 
proved  that  she  had  in  reality  possessed  an  exact  knowledge  of 
what  was  about  to  happen. 

Some  of  the  gypsy  women — but  these  were  the  older  women, 
who  had  lost  their  good  looks,  though  not  their  impudence — 
were  singing  songs,  and  those,  as  Robin  told  me,  songs  not  fit  to 
be  sung ;  and  one  old  crone,  sitting  before  her  tent  beside  a 
roaring  wood-fire  over  which  hung  a  great  saucepan,  sold  charms 
against  shot  and  steel.  The  lads  bought  these  greedily,  giving 
sixpence  apiece  for  them  ;  so  that  the  old  witch  must  have  made 
a  sackful  of  money.  They  came  and  looked  on  shyly.  Then 
one  would  say  to  the  other,  "  What  thinkest,  lad  ?  Is  there  aught 
in  it  ?"  And  the  other  would  say,  "  Truly,  I  know  not ;  but  she 
is  a  proper  witch,  and  I'll  buy  one.  We  may  have  to  fight. 
Best  make  sure  of  a  whole  skin."  And  so  he  bought  one,  and 
then  all  bought.  The  husbands  of  the  gypsy  women  were  en- 
gaged, meantime,  we  understood,  in  robbing  the  farm-yards  in 
the  neighborhood,  the  blame  being  afterwards  laid  upon  our 
honest  soldiers. 

Then  there  was  a  ballad-monger  singing  a  song  about  a  man 
and  a  broom,  and  selling  it  (to  those  who  would  buy)  printed 
on  a  long  slip  of  paper.     The  first  lines  were — 

"  There  was  an  old  man  and  he  lived  in  a  wood, 
And  his  trade  it  was  making  a  broom," 

but  I  heard  no  more,  because  Robin  hurried  me  away.  Then 
there  were  some  who  drunk  too  much  cider  or  beer,  and  Avere 
now  reeling  about  with  stupid  faces  and  glassy  eyes  ;  there  were 
some  who  were  lying  speechless  or  asleep  upon  the  grass ;  and 
some  were  cooking  supper  over  fires  after  the  manner  of  the 
gypsies. 

"  I  have  seen  enough,  Robin,"  I  said.  "  Alas  for  sacred  Re- 
ligion if  these  are  her  defenders  !" 


a        I 


Lit  me  ttU  thy  Joituuo,  handsome  geiUleman^  Let  me  tell  thine  fair 
lady  ?  A  sixpence  or  a  groat,  to  cross  my  falm,  captain,  and  you  shall 
know  all  that  is  to  happen.'" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  141 

"  'Tis  always  so,"  said  Robin,  "  in  time  of  war.  "We  must  en- 
courage our  men  to  keep  up  their  hearts.  Should  we  be  con- 
stantly reminding  them  that  to-morrow  half  of  them  may  be  ly- 
ing dead  on  the  battle-field  ?  Then  they  would  mope  and  hang 
their  heads,  and  would  presently  desert." 

"  One  need  not  preach  of  death,  but  one  should  preach  of 
godliness  and  of  sober  joy.  Look  but  at  those  gypsy  wenches 
and  those  lads  rolling  about  drunk.  Are  these  things  decent  ? 
If  they  escape  the  dangers  of  war,  will  it  make  them  happy  to 
look  back  upon  the  memory  of  this  camp  ?  Is  it  fit  preparation 
to  meet  their  Maker  ?" 

"  In  times  of  peace,  sweet  saint,  these  lads  remember  easily 
that  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death,  and  they  govern  them- 
selves accordingly.  In  times  of  war  every  man  hopes  for  his 
own  part  to  escape  Avith  a  whole  skin,  though  his  neighbor  fall. 
That  is  why  we  are  all  so  blithe  and  jolly.  Let  us  now  go 
home,  before  the  night  falls  and  the  mirth  becomes  riotous  and 
unseemly." 

We  passed  a  large  booth  whence  there  issued  sounds  of  sing- 
ing. It  was  a  roofless  enclosure  of  canvas.  Some  ale-house 
man  of  Taunton  had  set  it  up.  Robin  drew  aside  the  canvas 
door. 

"  Look  in,"  he  said.  "  See  the  brave  defenders  of  religion 
keeping  up  their  hearts." 

It  was  furnished  with  benches  and  rough  tables ;  at  one  end 
were  casks.  The  benches  were  crowded  with  soldiers,  every 
man  with  a  pot  before  him,  and  the  varlets  were  running  back- 
ward and  forward  with  cans  of  ale  and  cider.  Most  of  the 
men  were  smoking  pipes  of  tobacco,  and  they  were  singing  a 
song  which  seemed  to  have  no  end.  One  bawled  the  lines,  and 
when  it  came  to  the  "  Let  the  hautboys  play  !"  and  the  "  Huzza !" 
they  all  roared  out  together  : 

"  Now,  now,  the  duke's  health, 
And  let  the  hautboys  play, 
While  the  troops  on  their  march  shall 

Huzza  !  huzza  !  huzza ! 
Now,  now,  the  duke's  health, 
And  let  the  hautboys  play, 
While  the  drums  and  the  trumpets  sound  from  the  shore 
Huzza  !  huzza  !  huzza  !" 


142  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

They  sang  this  verse  several  times  over.     Then  another  began  : 

"Now,  now,  Lord  Grey's  healtli, 
And  let  the  hautboys  play. 
While  the  troops  on  tlieir  march  shall 

Huzza  !  huzza  !  huzza  ! 
'  Now,  now,  Lord  Grey's  hcaltii. 
And  let  the  hautboys  play. 
While  the  drums  and  the  trumpets  sound  from  the  shore 
Huzza  !  huzza  !  huzza  !" 
Next  a  third  voice  took  it  up  : 

"  Now,  now,  the  colonel's  health, 
And  let  the  hautboys  play," 

and  then  a  fourth  and  a  fifth,  and  the  last  verse  was  bawled  as 
lustily  and  with  so  much  joy  that  one  would  have  thought  the 
mere  singing  would  have  gotten  them  the  victory.  Men  are 
so  made,  I  suppose,  that  they  cannot  w^ork  together  without 
singing  and  music  to  keep  up  their  hearts.  Sailors  sing  when 
they  weigh  anchor  ;  men  who  unlade  ships  sing  as  they  carry 
out  the  bales  ;  even  Cromwell's  Ironsides  could  not  march  in 
silence,  but  sang  psalms  as  they  marched. 

The  sun  was  set  and  the  twilight  falling  when  we  left  the 
camp  ;  and  there  was  no  abatement  of  the  roaring  and  singing, 
but  rather  an  increase. 

"  They  will  go  on,"  said  Robin,  "  until  the  drink  or  their 
money  gives  out ;  then  they  will  lie  down  and  sleep.  You  have 
now  seen  a  camp,  sweetheart.  It  is  not,  truth  to  say,  as  deco- 
rous as  a  conventicle,  nor  is  the  talk  so  godly  as  in  Sir  Christo- 
pher's hall.  For  rough  fellows  there  must  be  rough  play  ;  in  a 
month  these  lads  will  be  veterans  ;  the  singing  will  have  grown 
stale  to  them  ;  the  black-eyed  gypsy-women  will  have  no  more 
power  to  charm  away  their  money ;  they  will  understand  the 
meaning  of  war  ;  the  camp  will  be  sober  if  it  is  not  religious." 

So  he  walked  homeward,  I,  for  my  part,  saddened  to  think 
in  what  a  spirit  of  riot  these  young  men,  whom  I  had  pictured 
so  full  of  godly  zeal,  were  preparing  to  meet  the  chance  of  im- 
mediate death  and  judgment. 

"  Sweet,"  said  Robin,  "  I  read  thy  thoughts  in  thy  troubled 
eyes.  Pray  for  us.  Some  of  us  will  fight  none  the  worse  for 
knowing  that  there  are  good  women  who  pray  for  them." 

We  were  now  back  in  the  town  ;  the  streets  were  still  full  of 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  143 

people,  and  no  one  seemed  to  think  of  bed.  Presently  we 
passed  tlie  Castle  Inn  ;  the  windows  were  open,  and  we  could 
see  a  great  company  of  gentlemen  sitting  round  a  table  on  which 
were  candles  lit  and  bowls  full  of  strong  drink  ;  nearly  every 
man  had  his  pipe  at  his  lips  and  his  glass  before  him,  and  one 
of  them  was  singing  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  guitar.  Their 
faces  were  red  and  swollen,  as  if  they  had  taken  too  much. 
At  one  end  of  the  table  sat  Ilumphrey.  What  ?  could  Humph- 
rey, too,  be  a  reveller  with  the  rest  ?  His  face,  which  was 
gloomy,  and  his  eyes,  which  were  sad,  showed  that  he  was  not. 

"  The  otlicers  have  supped  together,"  Said  Robin.  "  It  may 
be  long  before  we  get  such  good  quarters  again.  A  cup  of 
hipsy  and  a  song  in  good  fellowship,  thou  wilt  not  grudge  so 
much  ?" 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "  'tis  all  of  a  piece.  Like  man,  like  master. 
Officers  and  men  alike — all  drinking  and  singing.  Is  there  not 
one  good  man  in  all  the  army  ?" 

As  I  spoke  one  finished  a  song  at  which  all  laughed,  except 
Humphrey,  and  drummed  the  table  with  their  fists  and  shouted. 

Then  one  who  seemed  to  be  the  president  of  the  table  turned 
to  Humphrey. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said,  "  thou  wilt  not  drink,  thou  dost  not  laugh, 
and  thou  hast  not  sung.  Thou  must  be  tried  by  court-martial, 
and  the  sentence  of  the  court  is  a  brimming  glass  of  punch,  or 
a  song." 

"  Then,  gentlemen,"  said  Humphrey,  smiling,  "  I  will  give 
you  a  song.  But  blame  me  not  if  you  mislike  it ;  I  made  the 
song  in  praise  of  the  sweetest  woman  in  the  world."  He  took 
the  guitar  and  struck  the  strings.  When  he  began  to  sing  my 
checks  flamed  and  my  breath  came  and  went,  for  I  knew  the 
song  ;  he  liad  given  it  to  me  four  years  agone.  Who  was  the 
sweetest  woman  in  the  world  ?  Oh  !  he  made  this  song  for 
me  !  he  made  this  song  for  me,  and  none  but  me  !  But  these 
rude  revellers  would  not  know  that — and  I  never  guessed  that  the 
song  was  for  me.  How  could  I  think  that  he  would  write  these 
extravagances  for  me  ?    But  poets  cannot  mean  what  they  say. 

"  As  rides  the  moon  in  azure  skies, 
The  twinkling  stars  beside; 
As  when  in  splendor  she  doth  rise, 
Their  lesser  lights  they  hidCi 


144  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

So  beside  Celia,  when  her  face  we  see, 
All  unregarded  other  maidens  be. 

"  As  Ilelen  in  the  town  of  Troy 
Shone  fair  beyond  all  thought, 
That  to  behold  her  was  a  joy 
By  death  too  poorly  bought. 

So  when  fair  Celia  deigns  the  lawn  to  grace, 
All  life,  all  joy,  dwells  in  her  lovely  face. 

"  As  the  sweet  river  floweth  by 
Green  banks  and  alders  tall, 
It  stayeth  not  for  prayer  or  sigh. 
Nor  answereth  if  we  call. 

So  Celia  heeds  not  though  Love  cry  and  weep ; 
She  heavenward  wendeth  while  we  earthward  creep. 

"  The  marbled  saint,  so  cold  and  pure, 
Minds  naught  of  earthly  ways  ; 
Nor  can  man's  gauds  entice  or  lure 
That  fi.xed  heavenly  gaze. 

So  Celia,  though  thou  queen  and  empress  art, 
To  heaven,  to  heaven  alone,  belongs  thy  heart." 

Now  while  Humplirey  sang  this  song,  a  hush  fell  upon  the 
revellers  ;  they  had  expected  nothing  but  a  common  drinking- 
song.  After  the  bawling  and  the  noise  and  the  ribaldry  'twas 
like  a  breath  of  fresh  air  after  the  closeness  of  a  prison ;  or  like 
a  drink  of  pure  Avater  to  one  half  dead  with  thirst. 

"  Robin,"  1  said,  "  there  is  one  good  man  in  the  camp."  1 
say  that  while  Humphrey  sang  this  song — which,  to  be  sure, 
was  neither  a  drinking-song,  nor  a  party-song,  nor  a  song  of 
wickedness  and  folly — the  company  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence,  and  neither  laughed  nor  offered  to  interrupt.  Nay,  there 
were  signs  of  grace  in  some  of  their  faces  which  became  grave 
and  thoughtful.  When  Humphrey  finished  it,  he  laid  down 
the  guitar  and  rose  up  with  a  bow,  saying,  "  I  have  sung  my 
song,  gentlemen  all — and  so,  good-night !"  and  walked  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Robin,"  I  said  again,  "  thank  God,  there  is  one  good  man 
in  the  camp  !    I  had  forgotten  Humphrey." 

"  Yes,"  Robin  replied  ;  "  Humphrey  is  a  good  man,  if  ever 
there  was  one.  But  he  is  glum.  Something  oppresses  him. 
His  eyes  are  troubled,  and  he  hangs  his  head  ;  or  if  he  laughs 
at  all.  it  is  as  if  he  would  rather  cry.     Yet  all  the  way  home 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  145 

from  Holland  lie  was  joyful,  save  when  his  head  was  held  over 
the  side  of  the  ship.  He  sang  and  laughed  ;  he  spoke  of  great 
things  about  to  happen.  I  have  never  known  him  more  happy. 
And  now  his  face  is  gloomy,  and  he  sighs  when  he  thinks  no 
one  watcheth  him.  Perhaps,  like  thee,  sweet,  he  cannot  abide 
the  noise  and  riot  of  the  camp.  He  would  fain  see  every  man 
Bible  in  hand.  To-day  he  spent  two  hours  with  the  duke  before 
the  council,  and  was  with  thy  father  afterwards.  'Tis  certain 
that  the  duke  hath  great  confidence  in  him.  Why  is  he  so 
gloomy  ?  He  bitterly  reproached  me  for  leaving  Sir  Christo- 
pher, as  if  he  alone  had  a  conscience  to  obey  or  honor  to  re- 
member !" 

Humphrey  came  forth  at  this  moment  and  stood  for  a  moment 
on  the  steps.  Then  he  heaved  a  great  sigh  and  walked  away 
slowly,  with  hanging  head,  not  seeing  us. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  said  Robin,  "Perhaps 
they  flout  him  for  being  a  physician.  These  fellows  have  no 
respect  for  learning  or  for  any  one  who  is  not  a  country  gentle- 
man. Well,  perhaps  when  we  are  on  the  march  he  will  again 
pick  up  his  spirits.  They  are  going  to  sing  again.  Shall  we 
go,  child  ?" 

But  the  president  called  a  name  which  made  me  stop  a  lit- 
tle longer. 

"  Barnaby  !"  he  cried  ;  "  jolly  Captain  Barnaby  !  Now  that 
Doctor  Graveairs  hath  left  us  we  will  begin  the  night.  Barnal)y, 
my  hero,  thy  song.  Fill  up,  gentlemen  !  The  night  is  young, 
and  to-morrow  we  march.  Captain  Barnaby,  tip  us  a  sea-song. 
Silence,  gentlemen,  for  the  captain's  song." 

It  was  my  brother  that  they  called  upon — no  other.  He  got 
up  from  his  place  at  the  summons  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Heavens ! 
what  a  broad  man  he  seemed  compared  with  those  who  sat  be- 
side him  !  His  face  was  red  and  his  cheeks  swollen  because 
of  the  strong  drink  he  had  taken.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  full 
glass  of  it.  Robin  called  it  hipsy — and  it  is  a  mixture  of  wine, 
brandy,  and  water,  with  lemon  juice  and  sugar — very  heady  and 
strong. 

Said  not  Barnaby  that  there  was  one  religion  for  a  lands- 
man and  another  for  a  sailor  ?  I  thought  of  that  as  he  stood 
looking  round  him.  If  it  were  so,  it  would  be  truly  a  hap- 
py circumstance  for  most  sailors ;  but  I  know  not  on  what 
7  K 


146  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

assurance  this  belief  can  be  argued.  Then  Barnaby  waved  bis 
hand. 

"  Yoho  !  my  lads  !"  he  shouted.  "  The  ship's  in  port  and 
the  crew  has  gone  ashore  !" 

Then  he  began  to  sing  in  a  deep  voice  which  made  the 
glasses  ring — 

"  Shut  the  door — lock  the  door — 

Out  of  window  fling  the  key. 
Hasten  ;  bring  me  more,  bring  me  more  : 

Fill  it  up.     Fill  it  up  for  me. 
The  daylight  which  you  think, 
The  daylight  which  you  think, 
•  The  daylight  which  you  think, 

'Tis  but  the  candle's  flicker : 
The  morning  star  will  never  wink. 
The  morning  star  will  never  wink. 

Till  there  cometh  stint  of  hquor. 
For  'tis  tipple,  tipple,  tipple  all  around  the  world,  my  lads, 
And  the  sun  in  drink  is  nightly  lapped  and  curled. 
And  to-night  let  us  drink,  and  to-morrow  we'll  to  sea ; 
For  'tis  tipple,  tipple,  tipple — yes,  'tis  tipple,  tipple,  tipple — 

Makes  the  world  and  us  to  jee." 

"  Take  me  home,  Robin,"  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  and  heard 
enough.  Alas  !  we  have  need  of  all  the  prayers  that  we  can 
utter  from  the  depths  of  our  heart,  and  more  !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

benjamin's    warning. 


Since  I  have  so  much  to  tell  of  Benjamin's  evil  conduct,  it 
must,  in  justice,  be  recorded  of  him  that  at  this  juncture  he 
endeavored,  knowing  more  of  the  world  than  we  of  Somerset, 
to  warn  and  dissuade  his  cousins  from  taking  part  in  any  at- 
tempt which  should  be  made  in  the  west.  And  this  he  did  by 
means  of  a  letter  written  to  his  father.  I  know  not  how  far  the 
letter  might  have  succeeded,  but  unfortunately  it  arrived  two  or 
three  days  too  late,  when  the  boys  had  already  joined  the  insur- 
gents.    He  wrote: 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  147 

"Honored  Sir, — I  write  this  epistle,  being  much  concerned  in  spirit  lest 
my  grandfather,  whose  leanings  are  well  known,  not  only  in  his  own  county 
but  also  to  the  court,  should  be  drawn  into,  or  become  cognizant  of,  some 
attempt  to  raise  the  West  Country  against  their  lawful  king.  It  will  not  be 
news  to  you  that  the  Earl  of  Argyll  hath  landed  in  Scotland,  where  he  will 
meet  with  a  reception  which  will  doubtless  cause  him  to  i-epent  of  his  rash- 
ness. It  is  also  currently  reported,  and  everywhere  believed,  that  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth  intends  immediately  to  embark  and  cross  the  sea  with  the  de- 
sign of  raising  the  country  in  rebellion.  The  Dissenters,  who  have  been  go- 
ing about  with  sour  looks  for  five-and-twenty  years,  venture  now  to  smile  and 
look  pleased  in  anticipation  of  another  civil  war.  This  may  follow,  but  its 
termination,  I  think,  will  not  be  what  they  expect. 

"I  have  also  heard  that  my  cousin  Humphrey,  Dr.  Eykin's  favorite  pupil, 
who  hath  never  concealed  his  opinions,  hath  lately  returned  from  Holland 
(where  the  exiles  are  gathered)  and  passed  through  London  accompanied  by 
Robin.  I  have  further  learned  that  while  in  London  he  visited  (but  alone, 
without  Robin's  knowledge)  many  of  those  who  are  known  to  be  friends  of 
the  duke  and  red-hot  Protestants.  Wherefore  I  greatly  fear  that  he  hath 
been  in  correspondence  with  the  exiles,  and  is  cognizant  of  their  designs,  and 
may  even  be  their  messenger  to  announce  the  intentions  of  his  Protestant 
champion.  Certain  I  am  that  should  any  chance  occur  of  striking  a  blow  for 
freedom  of  worship,  my  cousin,  though  he  is  weak  and  of  slender  frame,  will 
join  the  attempt.  He  will  also  endeavor  to  draw  after  him  every  one  in  his 
power.  Therefore,  my  dear  father,  use  all  your  influence  to  withstand  him, 
and  if  he  must,  for  his  part,  plunge  into  ruin,  persuade  my  grandfather  and 
my  cousin  Robin  to  stay  quiet  at  home. 

"  I  hear  it  on  the  best  authority  that  the  temper  of  the  country,  and  es- 
pecially in  your  part  of  it,  hath  been  carefully  studied  by  the  government 
and  is  perfectly  well  known.  Those  who  would  risk  life  and  lands  for  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth  are  few  indeed.  He  may,  perhaps,  draw  a  rabble  after 
him,  but  no  more.  The  fat  tradesmen  who  most  long  for  the  conventicle  will 
not  fight  though  they  may  pray  for  him.  The  country  gentlemen  may  be 
Protestants,  but  they  are  mostly  for  the  Church  of  England  and  the  king.  It 
is  quite  true  that  his  majesty  is  a  Roman  Catholic,  nor  hath  he  ever  concealed 
or  denied  his  religion,  being  one  who  scorns  deceptions.  It  is  also  true  that 
his  profession  of  faith  is  a  stumbling-block  to  many  who  find  it  hard  to  recon- 
cile their  teaching  of  non-resistance  and  divine  right  with  the  introduction  of 
the  mass  and  the  Romish  priest.  But  the  country  hath  not  yet  forgotten  the 
iron  rule  of  the  Independent,  and  rather  than  suffer  him  to  return  the  people 
will  endure  a  vast  deal  of  royal  prerogative. 

"  It  is  absolutely  certain — assure  my  grandfather  on  this  point,  whatever  he 
may  learn  from  Humphrey — that  the  better  sort  will  never  join  Monmouth, 
whether  he  comes  as  another  Cromwell  to  restore  the  Commonwealth,  or 
whether  he  aspires  to  the  crown  and  dares  to  maintain — a  thing  which  King 
Charles  did  always  stoutly  deny — that  his  mother  was  married.  Is  it  credible 
that  the  ancient  throne  of  these  kingdoms  should  be  mounted  bj  the  base- 
born  son  of  Lucy  Waters  ? 


148  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"I  had  last  night  the  honor  of  drinking  a  bottle  of  wine  with  that  great 
lawyer,  Sir  George  Jeffreys.  The  conversation  turned  upon  tliis  subject.  We 
were  assured  by  tlie  judge  that  tlie  affections  of  the  people  are  wholly  with 
the  king;  that  the  liberty  of  worship  which  he  demands  for  himself  he  will 
extend  to  the  country,  so  that  the  last  pretence  of  reason  for  disaffection  shall 
be  removed.  Why  should  the  people  run  after  Monmouth  when,  if  he  were 
successful,  he  would  give  no  more  than  the  king  is  ready  to  give.  I  was  also 
privately  warned  by  Sir  George  that  my  grandfather's  name  is  unfavorably 
noted,  and  his  actions  and  speeches  will  be  watched.  Therefore,  sir,  I  hum- 
bly beg  that  you  will  represent  to  him  and  to  my  cousins,  and  to  Dr.  Eykin 
himself,  first,  the  hopelessness  of  any  such  enterprise  and  the  certainty  of  de- 
feat ;  and  next,  the  punishment  which  will  fall  upon  the  rebels  and  upon 
those  who  lend  them  any  countenance.  Men  of  such  a  temper  as  Dr.  Com- 
fort Eykin  will  doubtless  go  to  the  scaffold  willingly,  with  their  mouths  full 
of  the  texts  which  they  apply  to  themselves  on  all  occasions.  For  such  I 
have  no  pity ;  yet,  for  the  sake  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  I  would  willingly,  if 
I  could,  save  him  from  the  fate  which  will  be  his  if  Monmouth  lands  on  the 
west.  And  as  for  my  grandfather,  'tis  terrible  to  think  of  his  white  hairs 
blown  by  the  breeze  while  the  hangman  adjusts  the  knot,  and  I  should  shud- 
der to  see  the  blackened  limbs  of  Robin  stuck  upon  poles  for  all  the  world 
to  see. 

"It  is  my  present  intention,  if  my  affairs  permit,  to  follow  my  fortunes  on 
the  western  circuit  in  the  autumn,  when  I  shall  endeavor  to  ride  from  Taun- 
ton or  Exeter  to  Bradford  Orcas.  My  practice  grows  apace.  Daily  I  am 
heard  in  the  courts.  The  judges  already  know  me  and  listen  to  me.  The 
juries  begin  to  feel  the  weight  of  my  arguments.  The  attorneys  besiege  my 
chambers.  For  a  junior  I  .am  in  great  demand.  It  is  my  prayer  that  you, 
sir,  may  live  to  see  your  son  chancellor  of  the  exchequer  and  a  peer  of  the 
realm.  Less  than  chancellor  will  not  content  me.  As  for  marriage,  that 
might  hinder  my  rise — I  shall  not  marry  yet.  There  is  in  your  parish,  sir, 
one  who  knows  my  mind  upon  this  matter.  I  shall  be  pleased  to  think  that 
you  will  assure  her — you  know  very  well  whom  I  mean — that  my  mind  is  un- 
altered and  that  my  way  is  now  plain  before  me. 

"  So,  I  remain,  with  dutiful  respect,  your  obedient  son, 

"  B.  B." 

This  letter  arrived,  I  say,  after  tlie  departure  of  Robin  with 
his  company  of  village  lads. 

When  Mr.  Boscorel  had  read  it  slowly  and  twice  over,  so  as 
to  lose  no  point  of  the  contents,  he  sat  and  pondered  awhile. 
Then  he  arose  and  with  troubled  face  he  sought  Sir  Christopher, 
to  whom  he  read  it  through.  Then  he  waited  for  Sir  Chris- 
topher to  speak. 

*'  The  boy  writes,"  said  his  honor,  after  a  while,  "  according 
to  his  lights.  lie  repeats  the  things  he  hears  said  by  his  boon 
companions.     Nay,  more,  he  believes  them.     Why,  it  is  easy 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  149 

for  tlicm  to  swear  loyalty  and  to  declare  in  their  cups  where  the 
affections  of  the  people  are  placed." 

"  Sir  Christopher,  what  is  done  cannot  be  undone.  The  boys 
are  gone — alas  ! — but  you  still  remain.  Take  heed  for  a  space 
what  you  say  as  well  as  what  you  do." 

"  llow  should  they  know  the  temper  of  the  country  ?"  Sir 
Christopher  went  on,  regardless.  "  What  doth  the  foul-mouthed 
profligate,  Sir  George  Jeffreys,  know  concerning  sober  and  godly 
people  ?  These  are  not  noisy  templars  ;  they  are  not  profligates 
of  the  court ;  they  are  not  haunters  of  tavern  and  pothouse ; 
they  are  not  those  who  frequent  the  playhouse.  Judge  Jeffreys 
knows  none  such.  They  are  lovers  of  the  Word  of  God ;  they 
wish  to  worship  after  their  fashion ;  they  hate  the  pope  and  all 
his  works.     Let  us  hear  what  these  men  say  upon  the  matter." 

"  Nay,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "  I  care  not  greatly  what  they  say. 
But  would  to  God  the  boys  were  safe  returned." 

"  Benjamin  means  well,"  Sir  Christopher  went  on.  "  I  take 
this  warning  kindly ;  he  meant  well.  It  pleases  me  that  in  the 
midst  of  the  w^ork  and  the  feasting  which  he  loves  he  thinks 
upon  us.  Tell  him,  son-in-law,  that  I  thank  him  for  his  letter. 
It  shows  that  he  has  preserved  a  good  heart." 

"  As  for  his  good  heart,"  Mr.  Boscorel  stroked  his  nose  with 
his  forefinger,  "  so  long  as  Benjamin  gets  what  he  wants,  which 
is  Benjamin's  mess,  and  five  times  the  mess  of  any  other,  there 
is  no  doubt  of  his  good  heart." 

"  Worse  things  than  these,"  said  Sir  Christopher,  '*  were  said 
of  us  when  the  civil  wars  began.  The  king's  troops  would  ride 
us  down  ;  the  country  would  not  join  us  ;  those  of  us  who  were 
not  shot  or  cut  down  in  the  field  would  be  afterwards  hanged, 
drawn,  and  quartered.     Yet  we  drove  the  king  from  his  throne." 

"  And  then  the  king  came  back  again.  So  we  go  up  and  so 
we  go  down.  But  about  this  expedition  and  about  these  boys 
my  mind  misgives  me." 

"  Son-in-law,"  Sir  Christopher  said,  solemnly,  "  I  am  now  old, 
and  the  eyes  of  my  mind  are  dim,  so  that  I  no  longer  discern 
the  signs  of  the  times,  or  follow  the  current  of  the  stream ; 
moreover,  we  hear  but  little  news,  so  that  I  cannot  even  see  any 
of  those  signs.  Yet  to  men  in  old  age,  before  they  pass  away 
to  the  rest  provided  by  the  Lord,  there  cometh  sometimes  a 
vision  by  which  they  are  enabled  to  see  clearly  when  younger 


150  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

men  are  still  groping  tlieir  way  in  a  kind  of  twilight.  Mon- 
mouth liatli  landed ;  my  boys  are  with  him  ;  they  are  rebels ; 
should  the  rising  fail,  their  lives  are  forfeit,  and  that  of  my 
dear  friend,  Dr.  Comfort  Eykins ;  yea,  and  my  life  as  well,  be- 
like, because  I  have  been  a  consenting  party.  Ruin  and  death 
will,  in  that  event,  fall  upon  all  of  us.  Whether  it  will  so  hap- 
pen I  know  not,  nor  do  I  weigh  the  chance  of  that  event  against 
the  voice  of  conscience,  duty,  and  honor.  My  boys  have  obeyed 
that  voice ;  they  have  gone  forth  to  conquer  or  to  die.  My 
vision  doth  not  tell  me  what  will  happen  to  them.  But  it  shows 
me  the  priest  flying  from  the  country,  the  king  flying  from  the 
throne,  and  that  fair  angel  whom  we  call  freedom  of  conscience 
returning  to  bless  the  land.  To  know  that  the  laws  of  God  will 
triumph  *— ought  not  that  to  reconcile  a  man  already  seventy- 
five  years  of  age  to  death,  even  a  death  upon  the  gallows  ?  What 
matter  for  this  earthly  body  so  that  it  bo  spent  until  the  end  in 
the  service  of  the  Lord  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WE     WAIT     FOR     THE     END. 


I  HAVE  said  that  my  father  from  the  beginning  unto  the  end 
of  this  business  was  as  one  beside  himself,  being  in  an  ecstasy 
or  rapture  of  mind,  insomuch  that  he  heeded  nothing.  The  let- 
ters he  sent  out  to  his  friends  the  Nonconformists  either  brought 
no  answer  or  else  they  heaped  loads  of  trouble,  being  intercept- 
ed and  read,  upon  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  But  he 
was  not  moved.  The  defection  of  his  friends  and  of  the  gentry 
caused  him  no  uneasiness.  Nay,  he  even  closed  his  eyes  and 
ears  to  the  drinking,  the  profane  oaths,  and  the  riotous  living  in 
the  camp.  Others  there  were,  like-minded  with  himself,  who 
saw  the  hand  of  the  Lord  in  this  enterprise,  and  thought  that  it 
would  succeed  by  a  miracle.  The  desertions  of  the  men  which 
afterwards  followed,  and  the  defection  of  those  who  should 
have  joined — these  things  were  but  the  weeding  of  the  host, 
which  should  be  still  further  weeded,  as  in  a  well-known  chap- 
ter in  the  Book  of  Judges,  until  none  but  the  righteous  should 
be  left  behind.      These  things  he  preached   daily,  and  with 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  151 

miglity  fervor,  to  all  wlio  would  listen,  but  tliese  were  few  in 
number. 

As  regards  liis  wife  and  daughter,  lie  took  no  tliouglit  for 
them  at  all,  being  wholly  enwrapped  in  his  work :  he  did  not  so 
much  as  ask  if  we  had  money — to  be  sure,  for  five-and-twenty 
years  he  had  never  asked  that  question — or  if  we  were  safely 
bestowed,  or  if  we  were  well.  Never  have  I  seen  any  man  so 
careless  of  all  earthly  affections  when  he  considered  the  work 
of  the  Lord.  But  when  the  time  came  for  the  army  to  march 
what  were  we  to  do  ?     Where  should  we  be  bestowed  ? 

"  As  to  following  the  army,"  said  Robin,  "  that  is  absurd. 
We  know  not  whither  we  may  march  or  what  the  course  of 
events  may  order.  You  cannot  go  home  without  an  armed  es- 
cort, for  the  country  is  up,  the  clubmen  are  out  everywhere  to 
protect  their  cattle  and  horses ;  a  rough  and  rude  folk  they 
would  be  to  meet,  and  the  gypsies  are  robbing  and  plundering. 
Can  you  stay  here  until  we  come  back,  or  until  the  country  hath 
settled  down  again  ?" 

Miss  Blake  generously  promised  that  we  should  stay  with  her 
as  long  as  we  chose,  adding  many  kind  things  about  myself,  out 
of  friendship  and  a  good  heart ;  and  so  it  was  resolved  that  we 
should  remain  in  Taunton,  where  no  harm  could  befall  us,  while 
my  father  still  accompanied  the  army  to  exhort  the  soldiers. 

"  I  will  take  care  of  him,''  said  Barnaby.  "  He  shall  not  preach 
of  a  morning  till  he  hath  taken  breakfast,  nor  shall  he  go  to  bed 
until  he  hath  had  his  supper.  So  long  as  the  provisions  last 
out  he  shall  have  his  ration.  After  that  I  cannot  say.  Maybe 
we  shall  all  go  on  short  commons,  as  hath  happened  to  me  al- 
ready ;  and,  truth  to  tell,  I  love  it  not.  All  these  things  belong 
to  the  voyage  and  are  part  of  our  luck.  Farewell,  therefore, 
mother.  Heart  up.  All  will  go  well.  Kiss  me,  sister ;  we 
shall  all  come  back  again.  Never  fear.  King  Monmouth  shall 
be  crowned  in  Westminster,  dad  shall  be  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury, and  I  shall  be  captain  of  a  king's  ship.  All  our  fortunes 
shall  be  made,  and  you,  sister,  shall  have  a  great  estate,  and 
shall  marry  whom  you  please — Robin  or  another.  As  for  the 
gentry  who  have  not  come  forward,  hang  'em  1  we'll  divide  their 
estates  between  us  and  so  change  places,  and  they  will  be  so  as- 
tonished at  not  being  shot  for  cowardice  that  they  will  rejoice 
and  be  glad  to  clean  our  boots.     Thus  shall  we  all  be  happy." 


152  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

So  they  marched  away,  Monmouth  being  now  at  the  liead  of 
an  army  seven  thousand  strong,  and  all  in  such  spirits  that  you 
would  have  thought  nothing  could  withstand  them.  And  when 
I  consider  and  remember  how  that  army  marched  back,  with  the 
cheers  of  the  men  and  the  laughter  and  jokes  of  the  young  re- 
cruits, the  tears  run  down  my  cheeks  for  thinking  how  their 
joy  was  turned  to  mourning,  and  life  was  exchanged  for  death. 
The  last  I  saw  of  Robin  was  that  he  was  turning  in  his  saddle 
to  wave  his  hand,  his  face  full  of  confidence  and  joy.  The  only 
gloomy  face  in  the  whole  army  that  morning  was  the  face  of 
Humphrey.  Afterwards  I  learned  that  almost  from  the  begin- 
ning he  foresaw  certain  disaster.  In  the  first  place,  none  of 
those  on  whom  the  exiles  of  Holland  had  relied  came  into  camp  ; 
these  were  the  backbone  of  the  Protestant  party,  the  sturdy 
blood  that  had  been  freely  shed  against  Charles  the  First.  This 
was  a  bitter  disappointment.  Next,  he  saw  in  the  army  nothing 
but  a  rabble  of  country  lads,  with  such  officers  as  Captain  Huck- 
er,  the  serge-maker,  instead  of  the  country  gentlemen  with  their 
troops,  as  had  been  expected,  and  from  the  beginning  he  dis' 
trusted  the  leaders,  even  the  duke  himself.  So  he  hung  his 
head,  and  laughed  not  with  the  rest.  But  his  doubts  he  kept 
locked  up  in  his  own  heart.     Robin  knew  none  of  them. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the  Taunton  women  walking  out 
for  a  mile  and  more  with  their  lovers  who  had  joined  Monmouth. 
They  walked  hand  in  hand  with  the  men  ;  they  wore  the  Mon- 
mouth favors.  They  had  no  more  doubt  or  fear  of  the  event 
than  their  sweethearts. 

Those  who  visit  Taunton  now  may  see  these  women  creeping 
about  the  streets  lonely  and  sorrowful,  mindful  still  of  that  Sun- 
day morning  when  they  saw  their  lovers  for  the  last  time. 

When  I  consider  the  history  of  this  expedition  I  am  amazed 
that  it  did  not  succeed.  It  was,  surely,  by  a  special  judgment 
of  God  that  the  victory  was  withheld  from  Monmouth  and  re- 
served for  William.  I  say  not  (presumptuously)  that  the  judg- 
ment was  pronounced  against  the  duke  on  account  of  his  sinful 
life,  but  I  think  it  was  the  will  of  Heaven  that  the  country 
should  endure  for  three  years  the  presence  of  a  prince  who  was 
continually  seeking  to  advance  the  Catholic  religion.  The  peo- 
ple were  not  yet  ripe,  perhaps,  for  that  universal  disgust  which 
caused  them  without  bloodshed  (in  this  island  at  least)  to  pull 


' '  The  last  I  saw  of  Robin  was  that  he  was  turning  in  his  saddle  to  wave  his 
hand,  his  face  full  of  confidence  and  joy." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  153 

down  King  James  from  his  tlironc.  Wlicn,  I  say,  I  consider  tlie 
temper  and  tlie  courage  of  that  great  army  which  left  Taunton, 
greater  than  any  which  the  king  could  bring  against  it ;  when  I 
consider  the  multitudes  who  flocked  to  the  standard  at  Bridg- 
water, I  am,  indeed,  lost  in  wonder  at  the  event. 

From  Sunday,  the  twenty-first,  when  the  army  marched  out 
of  Taunton,  till  the  news  came  of  their  rout  on  Sedgeraoor,  we 
heard  nothing  certain  about  them.  On  Tuesday  the  Duke  of 
Albemarle,  hearing  that  the  army  had  gone,  occupied  Taunton 
with  the  militia,  and  there  were  some  who  expected  severities 
on  account  of  the  welcome  given  to  the  duke  and  the  recruits 
whom  he  obtained  here.  But  there  were  no  acts  of  revenge 
that  I  heard  of ;  and,  indeed,  he  did  not  stay  long  in  the  town. 
As  for  us,  we  remained  under  the  shelter  of  Miss  Blake's  roof, 
and  daily  expected  news  of  some  great  and  signal  victory.  But 
none  came,  save  one  letter.  Every  day  we  looked  for  this  news, 
and  every  day  we  planned  and  laid  down  the  victorious  march 
for  our  army. 

"  They  will  first  occupy  Bristol,"  said  Miss  Blake.  "  That  is 
certain,  because  there  are  many  stout  Protestants  in  Bristol,  and 
the  place  is  important.  Once  master  of  that  great  city,  our  king 
will  get  possession  of  ships,  and  so  will  have  a  fleet.  There  are, 
no  doubt,  plenty  of  arms  in  the  town,  with  which  he  will  be  able 
to  equip  an  army  ten  times  greater  than  that  which  he  now  has. 
Then — with,  say,  thirty  thousand  men — he  will  march  on  Lon- 
don. The  militia  will,  of  course,  lay  down  their  arms  or  desert 
at  the  approach  of  this  great  and  resolute  army.  The  king's 
regiments  will  prove,  I  expect,  to  be  Protestants,  every  man, 
Oxford  will  open  her  gates.  London  will  send  out  her  train- 
bands to  welcome  the  deliverer,  and  so  our  king  will  enter  in 
triumph,  and  be  crowned  at  Westminster  "Abbey  —  one  King 
James  succeeding  another.  Then  there  shall  be  restored  to  this 
distracted  country  " — being  a  schoolmistress.  Miss  Blake  could 
use  language  worthy  of  the  dignity  of  history — "the  blessings 
of  religious  freedom ;  and  the  pure  word  of  God,  stripped  of 
superstitious  additions  made  by  men,  shall  be  preached  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land." 

"  What  shall  be  done,"  I  asked,  "  with  the  bishops  ?" 

"  They  shall  be  suffered  to  remain,"  she  said,  speaking  with 
a  voice  of  authority,  "  for  those  congregations  which  desire  a 
7* 


154  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

prelacy,  but  stripped  of  tlicir  titles  and  of  their  vast  revenues. 
We  will  not  persecute,  but  we  will  never  suffer  one  cburcli  to 
lord  it  over  another.  Oh  !  when  will  the  news  come  ?  Where 
is  the  army  now  ?" 

The  letter  of  which  I  have  spoken  was  from  Robin. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  all  goes  well  so  far.  At  Bridg- 
water v/e  have  received  a  welcome  only  second  to  that  of  Taun- 
ton. The  mayor  and  aldermen  proclaimed  our  king  at  the  high 
cross,  and  the  people  have  sent  to  the  camp  great  store  of  pro- 
visions and  arras  of  all  kinds.  We  are  now  six  regiments  of 
foot,  with  a  thousand  cavalry,  besides  the  king's  own  body- 
guard. We  have  many  good  friends  at  Bridgwater,  especially 
one  Mr.  Roger  Hoar,  who  is  a  rich  merchant  of  the  place,  and  is 
very  zealous  in  the  cause.  Your  father  preached  on  Sunday 
evening  from  the  text  Deuteronomy  vii.  5 :  'Ye  shall  de- 
stroy their  altars,  and  break  down  their  images,  and  cut  down 
their  groves,  and  burn  their  graven  images  with  fire.'  It  was 
a  most  moving  discourse,  which  fired  the  hearts  of  all  who 
heard  it. 

"  They  say  that  our  chief  is  downhearted  because  the  nobility 
and  gentry  have  not  come  in.  They  only  wait  for  the  first  vic- 
tory, after  which  they  will  come  in  by  hundreds.  But  some  of 
our  men  look  forward  to  depriving  them  of  their  estates  and 
dividing  them  among  themselves ;  and  already  the  colonels  and 
majors  are  beginning  to  reckon  up  the  great  rewards  which 
await  them.  As  for  me,  there  is  but  one  reward  for  which  I 
pray,  namely,  to  return  unto  Bradford  Orcas  and  to  the  arms  of 
my  sweet  saint.  Lord  Churchill  is  reported  to  be  at  Chard : 
there  has  been  a  brush  in  the  Forest  of  Neroche  between  the 
scouts,  and  it  is  said  that  all  the  roads  are  guarded  so  that  re- 
cruits shall  be  arrested,  or  at  least  driven  back.  Perhaps  this 
is  the  reason  why  the  gentry  sit  down.  Barnaby  says  that,  so 
far,  there  have  been  provisions  enough  and  to  spare,  and  he 
hopes  the  present  plenty  may  continue.  No  ship's  crew  can 
fight,  he  says,  on  half  rations.  Our  march  will  be  on  Bristol. 
I  hope  and  believe  that  when  we  have  gotten  that  great  town 
our  end  is  sure.     Humphrey  continueth  glum." 

Many  women  there  were  who  passed  that  time  in  prayer,  con- 
tinually offering  up  supplications  on  behalf  of  husband,  brother, 
lover,  or  son.     But  at  Taunton  the  rector,  one  Walter  Harte,  a 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  155 

zealous  High  Cliurcliman,  came  fortli  from  hiding,  and,  with  tlic 
magistrates,  said  prayers  daily  for  King  James  the  Second. 

To  tell  Avhat  follows  is  to  renew  a  time  of  agony  unspeakable. 
Yet  must  it  be  told.  Farewell,  happy  days  of  hope  and  confi- 
dence !  Farewell,  the  sweet  exchange  of  dreams !  Farewell  to 
our  lovely  hero,  the  gracious  duke  !  Ail  the  troubles  that  man's 
mind  can  conceive  were  permitted  to  be  rained  upon  our  heads 
— defeat,  wounds,  death,  prison — nay,  for  me  such  a  thing  as 
no  one  could  have  expected  or  even  feared — such  a  fate  as  never 
entered  the  mind  of  man  to  invent. 

When  the  duke  marched  out  of  Bridgwater  across  Sedgemoor 
to  Glastonbury,  the  weather,  which  had  been  hot  and  fine,  be- 
came cold  and  rainy,  which  made  the  men  uncomfortable.  At 
Glastonbury  they  camped  in  the  ruins  of  the  old  abbey.  Thence 
they  went  to  Shepton  Mallet,  the  spirits  of  the  men  still  being 
high.  From  Shepton  Mallet  they  marched  to  a  place  called 
Pensford,  only  five  miles  from  Bristol.  Here  they  heard  that 
the  bridge  over  the  Avon  at  Keynsham  was  broken  down.  This 
being  presently  repaired,  the  army  marched  across.  They  were 
then  within  easy  reach  of  Bristol. 

And  now  began  the  disasters  of  the  enterprise.  Up  to  this 
time  everything  had  prospered,  ilad  the  duke  boldly  attacked 
Bristol  (I  speak  not  of  my  own  wisdom,  having  none  in  such 
matters  of  warfare)  he  would  have  encountered  no  more  than 
twenty  companies  or  thereabouts  of  militia  and  a  regiment  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  horse.  Moreover,  Bristol  was  full  of  dis- 
senters, who  wanted  nothing  but  encouragement  to  join  the 
Protestant  champion.  Not  only  the  duke's  friends,  but  also  his 
enemies,  agree  in  declaring  that  it  wanted  nothing  but  courage 
to  take  that  great,  rich,  and  populous  city,  where  he  would  have 
found  everything  that  he  wanted — men  and  money,  arms  and 
ammunition.  I  cannot  but  think  that  for  his  sins,  or  for  the 
sins  of  the  nation,  a  judicial  blindness  was  caused  to  fall  upon 
the  duke,  so  that  he  chose,  of  two  ways  open  to  him,  that  which 
led  to  his  destruction.  In  short,  he  turned  away  from  Bristol 
and  drew  up  his  forces  against  Bath.  When  he  summoned  that 
city  to  surrender  they  shot  his  herald  and  scoffed  at  him.  Then, 
instead  of  taking  the  town,  the  duke  retired  to  Philip's  Norton, 
where,  'tis  said,  he  expected  some  great  reinforcements.  But 
none  came ;  and  he  now  grew  greatly  dejected,  showing  his  de- 


156  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

jection  in  Lis  face,  wliich  could  conceal  nothing.  Yet  had  he 
fought  an  action  with  his  half-brother,  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  in 
which  he  was  victorious,  a  thing  which  ought  to  have  helped 
him.  In  this  action  Lieutenant  Blake,  Miss  Blake's  cousin, 
was  killed.  From  Philip's  Norton  the  army  marched  to  Frome, 
and  here,  such  was  the  general  despondency,  that  two  thousand 
men — a  third  of  the  whole  army — deserted  in  the  night  and  re- 
turned to  their  own  homes.  I  think,  also,  it  was  at  Frome  that 
they  learned  the  news  of  Lord  Argyll's  discomfiture. 

Then  a  council  was  held  at  which  it  was  proposed  that  the 
army  should  be  disbanded  and  ordered  to  return,  seeing  that  the 
king  had  proclaimed  a  pardon  to  all  who  would  peacefully  lay 
down  their  arms  and  return  home  ;  and  that  the  duke,  with  Lord 
Grey  and  those  who  would  be  certainly  exempted  from  that  par- 
don, should  make  the  best  of  their  way  out  of  the  country. 

Alas !  There  was  a  way  open  to  safety  of  all  those  poor  men ; 
but  again  was  the  duke  permitted  to  choose  the  other  way,  that, 
namely,  which  led  to  the  destruction  of  his  army  and  himself. 
Yet  they  say  that  he  himself  recommended  the  safer  course.  He 
must  have  known  that  he  wanted  arms  and  ammunition,  that  his 
men  were  deserting,  and  that  no  more  recruits  came  in.  Colonel 
Venner,  one  of  his  principal  men,  was  at  this  juncture  sent  away 
to  Holland  in  order  to  get  assistance  in  arms  and  money.  And 
the  king's  proclamation  of  pardon  was  carefully  kept  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  soldiers. 

On  July  the  fourth  the  army  returned  to  Bridgwater,  and 
now  Dr.  Hooke,  chaplain  to  the  army,  and  some  of  the  officers 
were  sent  away  secretly  in  order  to  raise  an  insurrection  in  Lon- 
don and  elsewhere,  the  only  hope  now  being  that  risings  in  vari- 
ous parts  would  call  away  some  of  the  king's  forces  from  the 
west.  Some  of  the  Taunton  men  in  the  army  rode  from  Bridg- 
water to  see  their  friends.  But  we  women  (who  for  the  most  part 
remained  at  home)  learned  no  news  save  that  as  yet  there  had 
been  no  signal  victory ;  we  did  not  hear  of  the  large  desertions 
nor  of  the  duke's  despondency.  Therefore  we  continued  in  our 
fool's  paradise  and  looked  for  nothing  but  some  great  and  crown- 
ing mercy.  Those  who  are  on  the  side  of  the  Lord  are  always 
expecting  some  special  interference :  whereas  they  ought  to  be 
satisfied  with  being  on  the  right  side,  whether  victory  or  defeat 
be  intended  for  them.     In  this  enterprise  I  doubt  not  that  those 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  157 

godly  men  (there  were  indeed  some  godly  men)  who  fell  in  bat- 
tle or  were  afterwards  executed,  received  their  reward,  and  that 
a  far,  far  greater  reward  than  their  conduct  deserved — for  who 
can  measure  the  short  agony  of  death  beside  the  everlasting  life 
of  glory  and  joy  unspeakable  ? 

The  last  day  of  this  fatal  expedition  was  Sunday  the  fifth  day 
of  July  :  so  that  it  took  no  more  than  three  weeks  in  all  between 
its  first  beginning  and  its  failure.  Only  three  weeks !  But 
how  much  longer  was  it  before  the  punishment  and  the  expia- 
tion were  concluded  ?  Nay,  are  they  even  yet  concluded,  when 
thousands  of  innocent  women  and  children  still  go  in  poverty 
and  mourning  for  the  loss  of  those  who  should  have  worked  for 
them? 

In  the  morning  my  father  preached  to  the  soldiers  on  the  text 
(Joshua  xxii.  22),  "The  Lord  God  of  gods,  the  Lord  God  of 
gods,  he  knoweth,  and  Israel  he  shall  know  ;  if  it  be  in  rebellion, 
or  if  in  transgression  against  the  Lord,  (save  us  not  this  day)." 

And  now  the  time  was  come  when  the  last  battle  was  to  be 
fought. 

The  Earl  of  Feversham,  who  had  been  at  Somerton,  marched 
this  day  across  Sedgemoor  and  encamped  at  Weston  Zoyland, 
which  is  but  five  or  six  miles  from  Bridgwater.  Now  it  chanced 
that  one  William  Sparke  of  Chedzoy,  hearing  of  this  advance, 
climbed  the  church  tower,  and  by  aid  of  a  spying-glass,  such  as 
sailors  use  at  sea,  discerned  clearly  the  approach  of  the  army 
and  its  halt  at  Weston.  Being  a  well-wisher  to  the  duke,  he 
sent  one  of  his  men,  Richard  Godfrey  by  name,  with  orders  to 
spy  into  and  learn  the  position  and  numbers  of  the  earl's  army 
and  to  carry  his  information  straightway  to  Bridgwater.  This 
duty  the  fellow  promised  and  most  faithfully  performed. 

The  duke  had  already  learned  the  approach  of  Lord  Fever- 
sham,  and  being  now  well-nigh  desperate  with  his  continued  losses, 
and  seeing  his  army  gradually  wasting  away,  with  no  fresh  re- 
cruits, he  had  resolved  upon  not  waiting  to  be  attacked,  but  on 
a  retreat  northwards,  hoping  to  get  across  the  bridge  at  Keyn- 
sham  and  so  march  into  Shropshire  and  Cheshire,  where  still  he 
hoped  to  raise  another  army.  But  (says  he  who  hath  helped 
me  with  this  brief  account  of.  the  expedition)  the  retreat,  which 
would  have  been  harassed  by  Lord  Feversham's  horse,  would 
have  turned  into  flight ;  the  men  would  have  deserted  in  all  di- 


158  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

rections,  and  when  the  remains  of  the  army  arrived  at  Keynsham 
Bridge  they  would  certainly  have  found  it  occupied  by  the  Duke 
of  Beaufort, 

The  carriages  were  already  loaded  in  readiness  for  this  march — 
it  was  to  begin  at  nightfall — when  the  arrival  of  the  man  God- 
frey, and  the  news  that  he  brought,  caused  the  duke  to  change 
everything.  For  he  now  perceived  that  such  a  chance  was  of- 
fered him  as  had  never  before  occurred  since  his  landing,  viz., 
a  night  surprise,  and,  if  he  were  fortunate,  the  rout  of  the  king's 
best  troops. 

It  is  said  that  had  the  duke  shown  the  same  boldness  in  the 
matter  of  Bristol  that  he  showed  in  this  night  attack  he  would 
have  gained  that  city  first  and  his  own  cause  next.  Nor  did  it 
appear  at  all  a  desperate  attempt.  For  though  Lord  Feversham 
had  twenty-five  hundred  men  with  him,  horse  and  foot,  with  six- 
teen field  pieces,  the  duke  had  nearly  three  thousand  foot  and 
six  hundred  horse  with  four  field  pieces ;  and  though  the  king's 
troops  included  many  companies  of  grenadiers,  with  a  battalion 
of  that  famous  regiment  the  Coldstream  Guards,  and  some  hun- 
dred horse  of  the  king's  regiment  and  dragoons,  the  duke  had 
with  him  at  least  two  thousand  men  well  armed  and  resolute,  as 
the  event  shov/ed.  Besides  this  he  had  the  advantage  of  the  sur- 
prise and  confusion  of  a  night  attack.  And,  in  addition,  the 
camp  was  not  entrenched,  the  troopers  had  all  gone  to  bed,  the 
foot  soldiers  were  drinking  cider,  and  the  officers  were  reported 
to  be  all  drunk. 

Therefore  it  was  resolved  that  the  intended  flight  into  Shrop- 
shire should  be  abandoned,  and  that  the  whole  matter  should  be 
brought  to  an  issue  this  very  night. 

Had  the  attack  succeeded  all  might  yet  have  gone  well  with  the 
duke.  His  enemies  boasted  that  his  raw  country  lads  would 
be  routed  at  the  first  charge  of  regular  soldiers ;  if  he  proved 
the  contrary,  those  who  had  deserted  him  would  have  returned, 
those  who  held  aloof  would  join ;  it  was  not  the  cause  which 
found  men  lukewarm,  it  was  the  doubt — and  nothing  but  the 
doubt,  whether  the  duke's  enterprise  would  be  supported.  And 
I  have  never  heard  that  any  found  aught  but  commendation  of 
the  boldness  and  spirit  which  brought  us  the  battle  of  Sedgemoor. 

All  that  day  we  spent  in  quiet  meditation,  in  prayer,  in  the 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  159 

reading  of  tlic  Bible,  and  in  godly  discourses  ;  and  herein  I  must 
commend  the  modesty  as  well  as  the  piety  of  Miss  Susan  Blake, 
in  that  she  invited  my  mother,  as  her  elder,  and  the  wife  of  an 
eminent  minister,  to  conduct  the  religious  exercises,  though  as  the 
hostess  she  might  have  demanded  that  privilege.  AYe  stirred 
not  abroad  at  all.  The  meeting-houses,  which  had  been  opened 
when  the  duke  marched  in,  were  now  closed  again. 

In  the  evening,  while  we  sat  together  discoursing  upon  the  spec- 
ial mercies  vouchsafed  to  the  people  of  the  Lord,  a  strange  thing 
happened.  Nay,  I  do  not  say  that  news  may  not  have  reached 
Taunton  already  of  the  duke's  intentions  and  of  the  position  of 
the  king's  forces.  But  this  seems  incredible,  since  it  was  not 
known,  except  to  the  council  by  whom  it  was  decided,  till  late  in 
the  afternoon,  and  it  was  not  to  be  thought  that  these  w'ould 
hurry  to  spread  the  news  abroad  and  so  ruin  the  whole  affair. 
The  wundow  being  open  then,  we  could  hear  the  voices  of  those 
who  talked  in  the  street  below.  Now  there  passed  two  men,  and 
they  were  talking  as  they  went.  Said  one — and  these  were  the 
words  we  heard — 

"  I  tell  thee  that  the  duke  will  have  no  more  to  do  than  to 
lock  the  stable  doors  and  so  seize  the  troopers  in  their  beds." 

"We  all  started  and  listened.     The  voice  below  repeated — 

"  I  say,  sir,  and  I  have  it  at  first  hand,  that  he  hath  but  to  lock 
the  stable  doors  and  so  seize  all  the  troopers  in  their  beds." 

Then  they  j^assed  on  their  way. 

Said  my  mother.  ''  My  husband  hath  told  me  that  not  only 
may  the  conscience  be  awakened  by  a  w^ord  which  seemeth 
chance,  but  the  future  may  be  revealed  by  words  which  were 
perhaps  meant  in  another  sense.  "What  we  have  heard  this  even- 
ing may  be  a  foretelling  of  victory.  My  children,  let  us  pray, 
and  so  to  bed." 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE    DAY    AFTER. 


It  was^ve  o'clock  when  I  awoke  next  morning.  Though  the 
hour  was  so  early,  I  heard  a  great  tramping  and  running  about 
the  streets,  and,  looking  out  of  window,  I  saw  a  concourse  of  the 


160  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

town's  people  gathered  togetlier  listening  to  one  who  spoke  to 
them.  But  in  the  middle  of  his  speech  they  broke  away  from 
him  and  ran  to  another  speaker,  and  so  distractedly  and  with 
such  gestures  that  they  were  clearly  much  moved  by  some  news, 
the  nature  of  which  I  could  not  guess.  For  in  some  faces  there 
was  visible  the  outward  show  of  triumph  and  joy,  and  on  oth- 
ers there  lay  plainly  visible  the  look  of  amazement  or  stupefac- 
tion, and  in  the  street  I  saw  some  women  weeping  and  crying. 
What  had  happened  ?  Oh  !  what  had  happened  ?  Then,  while 
I  was  still  dressing,  there  burst  into  the  room  Susan  Blake,  her- 
self but  half  dressed,  her  hair  flying  all  abroad,  the  comb  in  her 
hand. 

"  Rejoice  !"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  rejoice,  and  give  thanks  unto 
the  Lord  !  What  did  we  hear  last  night  ?  That  the  duke  had 
but  to  shut  the  stable  doors  and  seize  the  troopers  in  their  beds. 
Look  out  of  window — see  the  people  running  and  listening 
eagerly.  Oh  !  'tis  the  crowning  mercy  that  we  have  looked  for, 
the  Lord  hath  blown  and  his  enemies  are  scattered.  Remem- 
ber the  strange  words  we  heard  last  night.  What  said  the  un- 
known man  ?  nay  he  said  it  twice.  '  The  duke  had  but  to  lock 
the  stable  doors ;'  nay,  and  yesterday  I  saw,  and  last  night  I 
heard,  the  screech  owl  thrice,  Avhich  was  meant  for  the  ruin  of 
our  enemies.     Oh,  Grace,  Grace,  this  is  a  joyful  day  !" 

"  But  look,"  I  said,  "  they  have  a  downcast  look ;  they  run 
about  as  if  distracted ;  and  some  are  wringing  their  hands." 

"  'Tis  with  excess  of  joy,"  she  replied,  looking  out  of  the 
window  with  me,  though  her  hair  was  flying  in  the  wind.  "  They 
are  so  surprised  and  so  rejoiced  that  they  cannot  speak  or 
move." 

"  But  there  are  women  weeping  and  wailing ;  why  do  they 
weep  ?" 

"  It  is  for  those  who  are  killed.  Needs  must  in  every  great 
victory  that  some  are  killed — poor,  brave  fellows ! — and  some 
are  wounded.  Nay,  my  dear,  thou  hast  three  at  least  at  the 
camp  who  are  dear  to  thee,  and  God  knows  I  have  many.  Let 
us  pray  that  we  do  not  have  to  weep  like  those  poor  women." 

She  was  so  earnest  in  her  looks  and  words,  and  I  myself  so 
willing  to  believe,  that  I  doubted  no  longer.  • 

"  Listen !  oh,  listen  !"  she  cried,  "  never,  never  before  have 
bells  rung  a  music  so  joyful  to  my  heart." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  161 

For  now  the  bells  of  the  great  tower  of  St.  Mary's  began  to 
ring — clash,  clash,  clash,  all  together  as  if  they  were  cracking 
their  throats  with  joy ;  and  at  the  sound  of  the  bells  those  men 
in  the  street,  who  seemed  to  me  stupefied  as  by  a  heavy  blow, 
put  up  their  hands  to  their  ears  and  fled,  as  if  they  could  not 
bear  the  noise,  and  the  women  who  wept  wrung  their  hands  and 
shrieked  aloud  in  anguish,  as  if  the  joy  of  the  chimes  mocked 
the  sorrow  of  their  hearts. 

"  Poor  creatures  !"  said  Susan.  "  From  my  heart  I  pity  them. 
But  the  victory  is  ours,  and  now  it  only  remains  to  offer  up  our 
humble  prayers  and  praises  to  the  Throne  of  all  mercy." 

So  we  knelt  and  thanked  God. 

"  O  Lord,  we  thank  and  bless  thee  !  0  Lord,  we  thank 
and  bless  thee  !"  cried  Susan,  the  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude  run- 
ning down  her  cheeks.  Outside,  the  noise  of  hurrying  feet  and 
voices  increased,  and  more  women  shrieked — and  still  the  joy 
bells  clashed  and  clanged. 

"  0  Lord,  we  thank  thee  !  O  Lord,  we  bless  thee !"  Susan 
repeated  on  her  knees,  her  voice  broken  with  her  joy  and 
triumph.     'Twas  all  that  she  could  say. 

1  declare  that  at  that  moment  I  had  no  more  doubt  of  the 
victory  than  I  had  of  the  sunshine.  There  could  be  no  doubt. 
The  joy  bells  were  ringing ;  how  should  we  know  that  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Harte,  the  vicar,  caused  them  to  be  rung,  and  not  our  friends? 
There  could  be  no  manner  of  doubt.  The  people  running  to 
and  fro  in  the  street  had  heard  the  news  and  were  rushing  to 
tell  each  other  and  to  hear  more.  The  women  who  wept  were 
mothers  or  wives  of  the  slain ;  again,  we  had  encouraged  each 
other  with  assurances  of  our  success  so  that  we  were  already 
fully  prepared  to  believe  that  it  had  come.  Had  we  not  seen  a 
splendid  army  some  thousand  strong  march  out  of  Taunton 
town,  led  by  the  bravest  man  and  most  accomplished  soldier  in 
the  English  nation  ?  Was  not  the  army  on  the  Lord's  side  ? 
Were  we  not  in  a  Protestant  country  ?  Were  not  the  very 
regiments  of  the  king  Protestants  ?  Why  go  on  ?  and  yet — oh ! 
sad  to  think ! — while  we  knelt  and  prayed  the  army  was  scattered 
like  a  cloud  of  summer  gnats  by  a  shower  and  a  breeze,  and 
hundreds  lay  dead  upon  the  field,  and  a  thousand  men  were 
prisoners,  and  many  were  already  hanging  in  gemmaces  upon 
the  gibbets,  where  they  remained  till  King  William's  coming 

L 


162  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

suffered  tlicm  to  bo  taken  down,  and  the  rest  were  flying  in 
every  direction,  hoping-  to  escape. 

"  O  Lord,  we  thank  thee  !     O  Lord,  we  bless  thee  !" 

While  thus  we  prayed  we  heard  the  door  below  burst  open 
and  a  tramjjing  of  a  man's  boots,  and  Susan,  hastily  rolling  up 
her  hair,  ran  down-stairs  followed  by  mother  and  myself. 

There  stood  Barnaby.  Thank  God !  one  of  our  lads  was  safe 
out  of  the  fight.  His  face  and  hands  were  black  with  powder ; 
his  red  coat,  which  liad  been  so  fine,  was  now  smirched  with 
mud  and  stained  with  I  know  not  what  marks  of  weather,  of 
mud,  and  of  gunpowder ;  the  right-hand  side  was  torn  away, 
he  had  no  hat  upon  his  head,  and  a  bloody  clout  was  tied  about 
liis  forehead. 

"  Barnaby  !"  I  cried. 

"  Captain  Barnaby  !"  cried  Susan,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  My  son  !"  cried  mother ;  "  oh  !  thou  art  wounded.  Quick, 
Grace,  child  ;  a  basin  of  water,  quick  !" 

"  Nay,  'tis  but  a  scratch,"  he  said ;  "  and  there  is  no  time 
for  nursing." 

"  When — where — how,"  we  all  cried  together,  "  was  the  vic- 
tory won?     Is  the  enemy  cut  to  pieces?     Is  the  war  finished?'' 

"  Victory  ?"  he  repeated,  in  his  slow  way,  "  what  victory  ? 
Give  me  a  drink  of  cider,  and  if  there  is  a  morsel  of  victual  in 
the  house — " 

I  hurried  to  bring  him  both  cold  meat  and  bread  and  a  cup 
full  of  cider.     He  began  to  eat  and  drink. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  talking  between  his  mouthfuls,  "  if  the 
worst  comes  'tis  better  to  face  it  with  a —  Your  health,  madam ;" 
he  finished  the  cider.  "  Another  cup,  sister,  if  you  love  me.  I 
have  neither  eaten  nor  drunk  since  yesterday  at  seven  o'clock, 
or  thereabouts."  He  said  no  more  until  he  had  cleared  the 
dish  of  the  gammon,  and  left  nothing  but  the  bone.  This  he 
dropped  into  his  pocket.  "  When  the  provisions  are  out,"  he 
said,  wisely,  "there  is  good  gnawing  in  the  shank -bone  of  a 
ham."  Then  he  drank  up  the  rest  of  the  cider  and  looked 
around.     "  Victory  ?     Did  some  one  speak  of  victory  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  where  was  it  ?     Tell  us  quick." 

"  Well ;  there  was  in  some  sort  a  victory.  But  the  king 
had  it." 

"  What  mean  you,  Barnaby  ?  the  king  had  it  ?     What  king  ?" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  163 

"  Not  Kino^  Monmoutli.  Tliat  king  is  riding  away  to  find 
some  port  and  get  some  ship,  I  take  it,  Avhicli  will  carry  bim 
back  to  Holland." 

"Barnaby,  wbat  is  it  ?     Ob  !  wbat  is  it  ?     Tell  us  all." 

"  All  tbere  is  to  tell,  sister,  is  tbat  our  army  is  clean  cut  to 
pieces  and  tbat  tbose  of  us  wbo  are  not  killed  or  prisoners  are 
making  ofE  witb  wbat  speed  tbey  may.  As  for  me,  I  sbould 
have  thrown  away  my  coat  and  picked  up  some  old  duds  and 
got  off  to  Bristol  and  so  aboard  ship  and  away,  but  for  dad." 

"  O  Barnaby  !"  cried  my  mother,  "  what  hath  happened  to 
him?     Where  is  he?" 

"  I  said,  mother,"  be  replied,  very  slowly  and  looking  in  her 
face  strangely,  "  that  I  would  look  after  him,  didn't  I  ?  Well, 
when  we  marched  out  of  Bridgwater  at  nightfall,  nothing  would 
serve  but  be  must  go  too.  I  think  he  compared  himself  witb 
Moses,  who  stood  afar  off  and  held  up  his  arms.  Never  was 
there  any  man  more  eager  to  get  at  the  enemy  than  dad.  If  be 
had  not  been  a  minister  now,  what  a  soldier  be  would  have 
made !" 

"  Go  on.     Quick,  Barnaby." 

"  I  can  go,  sister,  no  quicker  than  I  can.     That  is  quite  sure." 

"  Where  is  he,  my  son  ?"  asked  my  mother. 

Barnaby  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  left  shoulder. 

"  He  is  over  there,  and  he  is  safe  enough  for  the  present. 
Well,  after  the  battle  was  over,  and  it  was  no  use  going  on  any 
longer,  Monmouth  and  Lord  Grey  having  already  run  away — " 

"  Run  away  ?     Run  away  ?" 

"  Run  away,  sister.  Aboard  ship  the  captain  stands  by  the 
crew  to  the  last,  and  if  they  strike  be  is  j^risoner  witb  them. 
Ashore,  the  general  runs  away  and  leaves  his  men  to  find  out 
when  they  will  give  over  fighting.  We  fought  until  there  was 
no  more  ammunition,  and  then  we  ran  with  the  rest.  Now  I 
had  not  gone  far,  before  I  saw  lying  on  the  moor  at  my  very 
feet  the  poor  old  dad." 

"  Oh !" 

"  He  was  quite  pale,  and  I  thought  he  was  dead.  So  I  was 
about  to  leave  him,  when  he  opened  his  eyes.  '  AMiat  cheer, 
dad  V  I  asked.  He  said  nothing.  So  I  felt  his  pulse  and  found 
him  breathing.  'But  what  cheer,  dad?'  I  asked  bim  again. 
'  Get  up  and  come  with  me.'    He  looked  around  as  if  he  under- 


1C4  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

stood  me  not,  and  he  shut  liis  eyes  again.  Now  when  you  run 
away  the  best  thing  is  to  run  as  fast  and  to  run  as  far  as  you 
can.  Yet  I  could  not  run  with  dad  lying  in  the  road  half  dead. 
So  while  I  tried  to  think  what  to  do,  because  the  murdering 
dragoons  were  cutting  us  down  in  all  directions,  there  came 
galloping  past  a  pony  harnessed  to  a  kind  of  go-cart  where  I 
suppose  there  had  been  a  barrel  or  two  of  cider  for  the  soldiers. 
The  creature  was  mad  with  the  noise  of  the  guns,  and  I  had 
much  ado  to  catch  him  and  hold  the  reins  while  I  lifted  dad 
into  the  cart.  When  I  had  done  that  I  ran  by  the  side  of  the 
horse  and  drove  him  oS  the  road  across  the  moor,  which  was 
rough  going — but  for  dear  life  one  must  endure  much — to  North 
Marton,  where  I  struck  the  road  to  Taunton  and  brought  him 
safe,  so  far." 

"  Take  me  to  him,  Barnaby,"  said  my  mother.  "  Take  me  to 
him." 

"  Why,  mother,"  he  said,  kindly,  "  I  know  not  if  'tis  wise. 
For,  look  you,  if  they  catch  us,  me  they  will  hang  or  shoot, 
though  dad  they  may  let  go,  for  he  is  sped  already ;  and  for  a 
tender  heart  like  thine  'twould  be  a  piteous  sight  to  see  thy 
son  hanging  from  a  branch  with  a  tight  rope  round  his  neck 
and  thy  husband  dead  on  a  hand-cart." 

"  Barnaby,  take  me  to  him — take  me  to  him." 

"  Oh !  Is  it  true  ?  Is  it  true  ?  O  Captain  Barnaby,  is  it 
really  true  ?     Then  why  are  the  bells  a-ringing  ?" 

Clash  !  clash !  clash  !  The  bells  rang  out  louder  and  louder. 
One  would  have  thought  the  whole  town  was  rejoicing.  Yet 
there  were  a  thousand  lads  marched  out  of  Taunton  town,  and  I 
know  not  how  many  ever  came  home  again. 

"  They  are  ringing,"  said  Barnaby,  "  because  King  Mon- 
mouth's army  is  scattered  and  the  rebellion  is  all  over.  Well, 
■we  have  had  our  chance  and  we  are  dished.  Now  must  we  sing 
small  again.  Madam,"  he  said,  earnestly,  addressing  Susan,  "  if 
1  remember  right  they  were  your  hands  that  carried  the  naked 
sword  and  the  Bible." 

"  They  were  my  hands." 

"  And  they  were  your  scholars  who  worked  the  flags  and 
gave  them  to  the  duke  that  day  when  you  walked  in  a  pro- 
cession ?" 

"  They  were  my  scholars,"  she  said,  proudly. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  165 

^  "  Then,  madam,  seeing  that  we  have,  if  all  reports  be  true,  a 
damned  unforgiving  kind  of  king,  my  advice  to  you  is  to  follow 
my  example,  and  run.  Hoist  all  sail,  madam,  and  fly  to  some 
port — any  port.  Fly  false  colors.  "When  hanging,  flogging, 
branding,  and  the  like  amusements  set  in,  1  think  they  will  re- 
member the  maids  of  Taunton.     That  is  my  advice,  madam." 

"  Sir,"  said  Susan,  bravely,  though  her  cheek  grew  pale  when 
he  spoke  of  floggings  and  brandings,  "  I  thank  you.  Whither 
should  I  fly  ?  Needs  must  I  stay  here  and  bear  whatever  af- 
fliction the  Lord  may  lay  upon  me ;  and  since  our  Protestant 
hero  is  defeated,  raethinks  it  matters  little  what  becomes  of  any 
of  us." 

"  Why,"  Barnaby  shook  his  head,  "  King  Monmouth  is  de- 
feated, that  is  most  true  ;  but  we  who  survive  have  got  our- 
selves to  look  after.  Sister,  get  a  basket  and  put  into  it 
provisions." 

"  What  will  you  have,  Barnaby  ?" 

"  Everything  that  you  can  carry.  Cold  bacon  for  choice  ; 
and  bread,  and  a  bottle  of  brandy  if  you  have  any,  and  all 
you  can  lay  hands  upon.     With  your  good  leave,  madam." 

"  Oh,  sir,  take  all,  take  all.  I  would  to  God  that  everything 
I  have  in  the  world  could  be  used  for  the  succor  of  these  my 
friends."     And  with  that  she  began  to  weep  and  to  cry. 

I  filled  a  great  basket  with  all  that  there  was  in  the  house, 
and  he  took  it  upon  his  arm.  And  then  we  came  away  with 
many  tears  and  fond  farewells  from  this  kind  soul  who  had 
done  so  much  for  the  cause,  and  was  now  about  to  pay  so  heavy 
a  penalty  for  her  zeal. 

Outside,  in  the  s"treet,  the  people  recognized  him  for  one  of 
Monmouth's  captains,  and  pressed  round  him  and  asked  him  a 
thousand  questions  ;  but  he  answered  shortly. 

"  We  were  drubbed,  I  tell  you.  King  Monmouth  hath  run 
away.  We  have  all  run  away.  How  should  I  know  how  many 
are  killed  ?  Every  man  who  doth  not  wish  to  be  hanged  had 
best  run  away  and  hide.  The  game  is  up,  friend,  we  are  sped. 
What  more  can  I  say  ?  How  do  I  know,  in  the  devil's  name, 
whose  fault  it  was  ?  How  can  I  tell,  madam,  if  your  son  is  safe  ? 
If  he  is  safe,  make  him  creep  into  a  hiding-place."  And  so 
on,  to  a  hundred  who  crowded  after  him  and  questioned  him  as 
to  the  nature  and  meaning  of  the  defeat.     Seeing  that  no  more 


Ibb  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

news  could  be  got  from  liim  the  people  left  off  following  us,  and 
we  got  out  of  the  town  on  the  east  side  where  the  road  leads  to 
Ilminster,  but  it  is  a  bad  road  and  little  frequented. 

Here  Barnaby  looked  about  him  carefully,  to  make  sure  that 
no  one  was  observing  us ;  and  then,  finding  that  no  one  was 
within  sight,  he  turned  to  the  right  down  a  grassy  lane  be- 
tween hedges. 

"  'Tis  this  way  that  I  brought  him,"  he  said.  "  Poor  old 
man  !  lie  can  now  move  neither  hand  nor  foot,  and  his  legs 
will  no  more  be  any  use  to  him.  Yet  he  seemed  in  no  pain, 
though  the  jolting  of  the  cart  must  have  shaken  him  more  than 
a  bit;' 

The  lane  led  into  a  field,  and  that  field  into  another  and  a 
smaller  one,  with  a  plantation  of  larches  on  two  sides  and  a 
brook  shaded  with  alders  on  a  third  side.  In  one  corner  Avas 
a  linney  with  a  thatched  roof  supported  on  wooden  pillars  in 
front,  and  closed  in  at  back  and  sides.  It  was  such  a  meadow 
as  is  used  for  the  pasture  of  cattle  and  the  keeping  of  a  bull. 

At  the  entrance  of  this  meadow  Barnaby  stopped  and  looked 
about  him  with  approbation. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  is  a  hiding-place  fit  for  King  Mon- 
mouth himself.  A  road  unfrequented ;  the  rustics  all  gone  off 
to  the  wars,  though  now,  I  doubt  not,  having  had  their  belly 
full  of  fighting.  I  suppose  there  were  once  cattle  in  the  meadow, 
but  they  are  either  driven  away  by  the  clubmen  for  safety,  or 
they  have  been  stolen  by  the  gypsies.  No  troopers  will  this 
day  come  prying  along  this  road  ;  or,  if  they  do  search  the 
wood,  which  is  unlikely,  they  will  not  look  in  the  linney  ;  here 
can  we  be  snug  until  we  make  up  our  minds  what  course  is  best." 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  "  take  us  to  my  father  without  more 
speech." 

"  I  have  laid  him,"  he  went  on,  "  upon  the  bare  ground  in 
the  linney,  but  it  is  soft  and  dry  lying,  and  the  air  is  warm, 
though  last  night  it  rained  and  was  cold.  He  looks  happy, 
mother,  and  I  doubt  if  he  hath  any  feeling  left  in  his  limbs. 
Once  I  saw  a  man  shot  in  the  backbone  and  never  moved  after- 
wards, but  he  lived  for  a  bit.     Here  he  is." 

Alas  !  lying  motionless  on  his  back,  his  head  bare,  his  white 
hair  lying  over  his  face,  his  eyes  closed,  his  cheek  white,  and 
no  sign  of  life  in  him  except  that  his  breast  gently  heaved,  was 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  167 

my  father.  Then  certain  words  which  he  uttered  came  back  to 
my  memory.  "  What  matters  the  end,"  he  said,  "  if  I  have 
freedom  of  speech  for  a  single  day  ?" 

My  mother  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  him  and  raised 
his  head. 

"  Ah !  my  heart,"  she  cried,  "  my  dear  heart,  my  husband, 
have  they  killed  thee  ?  Speak,  my  dear ;  speak  if  thou  canst ! 
Art  thou  in  pain  ?  Can  we  do  aught  to  relieve  thee  ?  Oh  !  is 
this  the  end  of  all  ?" 

But  my  father  made  no  reply.  He  opened  his  eyes,  but  they 
did  not  move  ;  he  looked  straight  before  him,  but  he  saw  noth- 
ing. Then  he  murmured,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Lord,  now  let  thy 
servant  depart  in  peace.     So  let  all  thine  enemies  perish.  Lord." 

And  this,  until  the  end,  was  the  burden  of  all ;  he  spoke  no 
word  to  show  that  he  knew  any  one,  or  that  he  was  in  pain,  or 
that  he  desired  anything.  He  neither  ate  nor  drank,  yet  for 
many  weeks  longer  he  continued  to  live. 


CHAPTER  XXHL 

OUR    FLIGHT. 


Thus  we  began  our  miserable  flight.  Thus,  in  silence,  we  sat 
in  the  shade  of  the  linney  all  the  morning.  Outside,  the  black- 
bird warbled  in  the  wood,  and  the  lark  sang  in  the  sky.  But 
we  sat  in  silence,  not  daring  so  much  as  to  ask  each  other  if 
those  things  were  real,  or  if  we  were  dreaming  a  dreadful 
dream.  Still  and  motionless  lay  my  father's  body  as  if  the 
body  of  a  dead  man.  He  felt  no  pain,  of  that  I  am  assured. 
It  makes  me  sick  even  to  think  that  he  might  have  suffered  pain 
from  his  wound.  He  had  no  sense  at  all  of  what  was  cfoinff  on, 
yet  once  or  twice  during  the  long  trance  or  paralysis  in  which 
lie  had  fallen  he  opened  his  lips  and  spoke  after  his  old  manner 
in  the  words  of  the  Bible,  but  in  a  disjointed  manner,  as  one 
who  is  in  a  dream  or  delirium.  And  he  breathed  gently,  so 
that  he  was  not  dead.  Barnaby,  for  his  part,  threw  himself 
upon  his  face,  and  laying  his  head  upon  his  arm  fell  asleep  in- 
stantly. The  place  w^as  very  quiet ;  at  the  end  of  the  meadow 
was  a  brook  and  there  was  a  wood  upon  the  other  side  ;  we  could 


168  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

hear  tlic  prattling  of  the  water  over  the  pebbles ;  outside  the 
linney  a  great  elm-tree  stretched  out  its  branches  ;  presently 
I  saw  a  squirrel  sitting  upon  one  and  peering  curiously  at  us, 
not  at  all  afraid,  so  still  and  motionless  we  were.  I  remember 
that  I  envied  the  squirrel.  He  took  no  thought  even  for  his 
daily  bread.  And  the  hedge  sparrows,  no  more  afraid  than  if 
the  linney  was  empty,  hopped  into  the  place  and  began  picking 
about  among  the  straw.  And  so  the  hours  slowly  passed  away, 
and  by  degrees  I  began  to  understand  a  little  better  what  had 
happened  to  us  ;  for  at  the  first  shock  one  could  not  perceive  the 
extent  of  the  disaster,  and  we  were  as  in  a  dream  when  we  fol- 
lowed Barnaby  out  of  the  town.  The  great  and  splendid  army 
was  destroyed  ;  that  gallant  hero,  the  duke,  was  in  flight ;  those 
of  the  soldiers  who  were  not  killed  or  taken  prisoners  were 
running  hither  and  thither  trying  to  escape  ;  my  father  was 
wounded  —  stricken  to  death  as  it  seemed,  and  deprived  of 
power  to  move,  to  feel,  or  to  think.  While  I  considered  this, 
I  suddenly  remembered  how  he  had  turned  his  eyes  from  gazing 
into  the  sky,  and  asked  me  what  it  mattered  even  if  the  end 
would  be  death  to  him  and  ruin  unto  all  of  us  ?  And  I  do  firmly 
believe  that  at  that  moment  he  had  an  actual  vision  of  the  end, 
and  really  saw  before  his  eyes  the  very  things  that  were  to  come 
to  pass,  and  that  he  knew  all  along  what  the  end  would  be.  Yet 
he  had  delivered  his  soul — why,  then,  he  had  obtained  his 
prayer — and  by  daily  exhortation  had,  doubtless,  done  much  to 
keep  up  the  spirit  of  those  in  the  army  who  were  sober  and 
godly  men.  Did  he  also,  like  Sir  Christopher,  have  another 
vision  which  should  console  and  encourage  him  ?  Did  he  see 
the  time  to  follow  when  a  greater  than  the  duke  should  come 
and  bring  with  him  the  deliverance  of  the  country  ?  There  are 
certain  gracious  words  with  which  that  vision  closes  which  he 
loved  to  read  and  to  expound — the  vision,  I  mean,  of  the  basket 
of  summer  fruit.  Did  those  words  ring  in  his  mind  and  com- 
fort him  even  in  the  prospect  of  his  own  end  ?  Then  my 
thoughts,  which  were  swift  and  yet  beyond  his  control,  left  him 
and  considered  the  case  of  Barnaby.  He  had  been  a  captain 
in  the  Green  Regiment ;  he  would  be  hanged  for  certain  if  he 
were  caught.  My  sweetheart,  my  Robin,  had  also  been  a  cap- 
tain in  the  duke's  army.  All  the  duke's  oflicers  would  be  hanged 
if  they  were  caught.     But  perhaps  Robin  was  already  dead — 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  169 

dead  on  the  battle-field — his  face  white,  his  hands  stiff,  blood 
upon  him  somewhere,  and  a  cruel  wound  upon  his  dear  body. 
Oh,  Robin !  Yet  I  shed  no  tears.  Humphrey,  too,  who  had 
been  one  of  the  duke's  chirurgeons,  he  would  also  be  surely 
hanged  if  he  were  caught.  Why,  since  all  would  be  hanged, 
why  not  hang  mother  and  me  as  well,  and  so  an  end  ? 

About  noon  Barnaby  began  to  stir;  then  he  grunted  and 
went  to  sleep  again ;  presently  he  moved  once  more ;  then  he 
rolled  over  on  his  broad  back  and  went  to  sleep  again.  It  was 
not  until  the  sun  was  quite  low  that  he  awoke,  sitting  up  sud- 
denly, and  looking  about  him  with  quick  suspicion,  as  one  who 
hath  been  sleeping  in  the  country  of  an  enemy  or  where  wild 
beasts  are  found. 

Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  shook  himself  like  a  dog. 

"Sister,"  he  said,  "thou  shouldst  have  awakened  me  earlier. 
I  have  slept  all  day.  AVell,  we  are  safe  so  far."  Here  he  looked 
cautiously  out  of  the  linney  towards  the  wood  and  the  road. 

"  So  far,  I  say,  we  are  safe.  I  take  it  we  had  best  not  v/ait 
until  to-morrow,  but  budge  to-night.  For  not  only  will  the 
troopers  scour  the  country,  but  they  will  offer  rewards,  and  the 
gypsies,  aye,  and  even  the  country  folks,  will  hasten  to  give 
information  out  of  their  greedy  hearts.  We  must  budge  this, 
very  night." 

"  Whither  shall  we  go,  Barnaby  ?" 

He  went  on,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  ray  question. 

"  We  shall  certainly  be  safe  for  to-night,  but  for  to-morrow, 
I  doubt.  Best  not  run  the  chance,  for  to-day  their  hands  are 
full ;  they  will  be  hanging  the  prisoners.  Some  they  will  hang 
first,  and  try  afterwards ;  some  they  will  try  first  and  hang 
afterwards.  What  odds  if  they  are  to  be  hanged  in  the  end  ? 
The  cider  orchards  never  had  such  fruit  as  they  will  show  this 
autumn  if  the  king  prove  revengeful,  as  to  judge  by  his  sour 
face  he  will  be."  Here  he  cursed  the  king,  his  sour  face,  his 
works  and  ways,  his  past,  his  present,  and  his  future  in  round 
language  which  I  hope  his  wounded  father  did  not  hear. 

"  We  must  lie  snug  for  a  month  or  two  somewhere  until  the 
unlucky  Monmouth  men  will  be  suffered  to  return  home  in  peace. 
Ay,  'twill  be  a  month  and  more,  I  take  it,  before  the  country 
will  be  left  quiet.  A  month  and  more.  And  dad  not  able  to 
crawl." 


170  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Where  shall  we  be  snug,  Barnaby  ?" 

"That,  sister,  is  what  I  am  trying  to  find  out — how  to  lie 
snug  with  a  couple  of  women  and  a  wounded  man  Vv'ho  cannot 
move.  'Twas  madness  of  the  poor  old  dad  to  bring  thee  to 
the  camp,  child.  For  now  we  cannot — any  of  us — part  com- 
pany, and  if  we  stay  together  'twill  maybe  bring  our  necks  to 
the  halter." 

"  Leave  us,  Barnaby,"  I  said.  "  Oh,  leave  us  to  do  what  we 
can  for  the  poor  sufferer,  and  save  thyself." 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta,  sister — knowest  not  what  thou  sayest.  Let  me 
consider.  There  may  be  some  way  of  safety.  As  for  provisions, 
now,  we  have  the  basket  full,  enough  for  two  days,  say.  What 
the  plague  did  dad,  the  poor  old  man,  want  with  women  when 
fighting  was  on  hand  ?  When  the  fighting  is  done,  I  grant  you, 
women  with  the  tobacco  and  punch  are  much  in  2:»lace.  There 
are  some  pretty  songs,  now,  that  I  have  heard  about  women  and 
drink." 

"  Barnaby,  is  this  a  time  to  be  talking  of  such  things  as  drink 
and  singing  ?" 

"  All  times  are  good.  Nevertheless,  all  company  is  not  fitting, 
wherefore,  sister,  I  say  no  more." 

"  Barnaby,  knowest  thou  aught  of  Robin  ?  or  of  Humphrey  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing.  They  may  be  dead ;  they  may  be  wounded 
and  prisoners ;  much  I  fear,  knowing  the  spirit  of  the  lads,  that 
both  are  killed.  Nay,  I  saw  Humphrey  before  the  fight,  and  he 
spoke  to  me." 

"  What  did  Humphrey  say  ?" 

"  I  asked  why  he  hung  his  head  and  looked  so  glum,  seeing 
that  we  were  at  last  going  forth  to  meet  the  king's  army.  This 
I  said  because  I  knew  Humphrey  to  be  a  lad  of  mettle,  though 
his  arm  is  thin  and  his  body  is  crooked.  '  I  go  heavy,  Barnaby,' 
he  said,  speaking  low  lest  others  should  hear, '  because  I  see 
plainly  that  unless  some  signal  success  come  to  us,  this  our  busi- 
ness will  end  badly.'  Then  he  began  to  talk  about  the  thou- 
sands who  were  to  have  been  raised  all  over  the  country ;  how 
he  himself  had  brought  to  the  duke  promises  of  support  gath- 
ered all  the  way  from  London  to  Bradford  Orcas ;  and  how  his 
friends  in  Holland  were  promised  both  men  and  arms,  but  none 
of  these  promises  had  been  kept ;  how  dad  had  brought  prom- 
ises of  support  from  all  the  Nonconformists  of  the  west,  but  hard- 


FOR  FAITU  AND  FREEDOM.  171 

]y  any  save  at  Taunton  had  come  forward ;  and  liow  the  array 
was  melting  away,  and  no  more  recruits  coming  in.  And  then 
he  said  that  he  had  been  the  means  of  bringing  so  many  to  the 
duke,  that  if  they  died  their  deaths  would  lie  upon  his  conscience. 
And  he  spoke  lovingly  of  Robin  and  of  thee,  sister.  And  so  we 
parted  and  I  saw  him  no  more.  As  for  what  he  said  about  suc- 
cess, I  minded  it  not  a  straw.  Many  a  croaker  turns  out  in  the 
long  run  to  be  brave  in  the  fight.  Doubtless  he  is  dead ;  and 
Robin,  too.  Both  are  dead  I  take  it,  sister ;  thou  hast  lost  thy 
sweetheart.  Cry  a  little,  my  dear,"  he  added,  kindly.  "  'Twill 
ease  the  pain  at  thy  heart.     'Tis  natural  for  a  woman  to  cry." 

"  I  cannot  cry,  Barnaby.  I  wish  I  could — the  tears  rise  to 
my  eyes,  but  my  throat  is  dry." 

"  Try  a  prayer  or  two,  sister.  'Twas  wont  to  comfort  the 
heart  of  my  mother  when  she  was  in  trouble." 

"  A  prayer,  brother  ?  I  have  done  nothing  but  pray  since  this 
unfortunate  rebellion  began.  A  prayer  ?  Oh,  I  cannot  pray. 
If  I  were  to  pray  now  it  would  be  as  if  my  words  were  echoed 
back  from  a  wall  of  solid  rock.  We  were  praying  all  yesterday 
— we  made  the  Sabbath  into  a  day  of  prayer  without  ceasing, 
and  the  morning,  when  you  opened  the  door,  we  were  praising 
and  thanking  God  for  the  mercy  of  the  great  victory  bestowed 
upon  us.     And  at  that  time  the  poor  brave  men — " 

"  Ay  !     They  were  brave  enough  to  the  end,"  said  Barnaby. 

"The  poor  brave  men  lying  cold  and  dead  upon  the  field 
(among  them,  maybe,  Robin),  and  the  prisoners  huddled  to- 
gether somewhere,  and  men  hanging  already  upon  the  gibbets. 
We  were  praising  God,  and  my  father  lying  on  the  ground 
stricken  to  death,  and  thou  a  fugitive,  and  all  of  us  ruined. 
Prayer  ?     How  could  I  pray  from  such  a  pit  of  woe  ?" 

"Child" — my  mother  lifted  her  pale  face — "in  the  darkest 
hour  pray  without  ceasing.  Even  if  there  happen  a  darker  hour 
than  this,  in  everything  by  prayer  and  supplication  with  thanks- 
giving let  your  requests  be  made  known — with  thanksgiving,  my 
daughter." 

Alas !  I  could  not  obey  the  apostolic  order.  'Twas  too  much 
for  me.  So  we  fell  into  silence.  When  the  sun  had  quite 
gone  down,  Barnaby  went  forth  cautiously.  Presently  he  came 
back. 

"  There  is  no  one  on  the  road,"  he  said ;  "  we  may  now  go  on 


172  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

our  way.  The  air  of  Taunton  is  dangerous  to  us.  It  breeds 
swift  and  fatal  diseases.  1  have  now  resolved  what  to  do.  I 
will  lift  my  father  upon  the  cart  again  and  put  in  the  pony. 
Four  or  five  miles  sou' west  or  thereabouts  is  Black  Down,  which 
is  a  No  Man's  Land.  Thither  will  we  go  and  hide  in  the  combs, 
where  no  one  ever  comes  except  the  gypsies." 

"  How  shall  we  live,  Barnaby  ?" 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  find  oiit  when  we  come  to  look 
about  us.  There  is  provision  for  two  days.  The  nights  are 
warm ;  we  shall  find  cover  or  make  it  with  branches.  There  is 
water  in  the  brooks,  and  dry  wood  to  burn.  There  we  may,  per- 
haps, be  safe.  When  the  country  is  quiet  we  will  make  our  way 
across  the  hills  to  Bradford  Orcas,  where  no  one  will  molest  you, 
and  I  can  go  off  to  Bristol  or  Lyme,  or  wherever  there  are  ships 
to  be  found.  When  sailors  are  shipwrecked,  sister,  they  do  not 
begin  by  asking  what  they  shall  do  on  dry  land ;  they  ask  only 
to  feel  the  stones  beneath  their  feet.  We  must  think  of  noth- 
ing now  but  of  a  place  of  safety." 

"Barnaby,  are  the  open  hills  a  proper  place  for  a  wounded 
man  ?" 

"Why,  child,  for  a  choice  between  the  hills  and  what  else 
may  happen  if  we  stay  here,  give  me  the  hills,  even  for  a  wounded 
man.  But,  indeed,"  he  whisj^ered,  so  that  my  mother  should 
not  hear  him,  "  he  will  die.  Death  is  written  on  his  face.  I 
know  not  how  long  he  will  live,  but  he  must  die.  Never  did 
any  man  recover  from  such  evil  plight." 

'  He  harnessed  the  pony  to  the  cart,  which  was  little  more  than 
a  couple  of  planks  laid  side  by  side,  just  as  he  had  brought  him 
from  Taunton.  My  mother  made  a  kind  of  pillow  for  him  with 
grass  tied  up  in  her  kerchief,  and  so  we  hoped  that  he  would 
not  feel  the  jogging  of  the  cart. 

"  The  stream,"  said  Barnaby,  "  comes  down  from  the  hills. 
Let  us  follow  its  course,  but  upward." 

It  was  a  broad  stream  with  a  shallow  bed,  for  the  most  part 
flat  and  pebbly,  and  on  either  side  of  the  stream  lay  a  strip  of 
soft  turf  broad  enough  for  the  cart  to  run  upon,  so  that  as 
long  as  that  lasted  we  had  very  easy  going ;  my  mother  and  I 
walking  one  on  each  side  so  as  to  steady  the  pillow,  and  keep 
the  poor  head  upon  it  from  pain.  But  whether  we  went  easy 
or  whether  we  went  rough,  that  head  made  no  sign  of  feeling 


•I went  to  the  pony  6  head,  aud  Barnnhy,  gomy  btluud  the  ca,t,  lifted 
it  over  tlie  rough  pJnces,  and  sometimes  carried  Ms  end  of  it." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  173 

aught,  and  lay,  just  as  in  tlie  linney,  as  if  dead.  Once  it  had 
spoken  ;  now  it  was  silent  again. 

I  cannot  tell  how  long  we  went  on  beside  that  stream.  'Twas 
in  a  wild,  uncultivated  country  ;  the  ground  ascended  ;  the  stream 
became  narrower  and  swifter ;  presently  the  friendly  strip  of 
turf  failed  altogether,  and  then  we  had  trouble  to  keep  the  cart 
from  upsetting.  I  went  to  the  pony's  head,  and  Barnaby,  going 
behind  the  cart,  lifted  it  over  the  rough  places  and  sometimes 
carried  his  end  of  it.  The  night  was  chilly,  my  feet  were  w^et 
with  splashing  in  the  brook,  and  I  was  growing  faint  with  hun- 
ger when  Barnaby  called  a  halt. 

"  We  are  now,"  he  said,  "  at  the  head  of  the  stream.  In 
half  an  hour  or  thereabouts  it  will  be  break  of  day.  Let  us 
rest.  Mother,  you  must  eat  something.  Come,  sister,  'tis  late 
for  supper  and  full  early  for  breakfast.  Take  some  meat  and 
bread  and  half  a  cup  of  cider." 

It  is  all  I  remember  of  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    CAMP    IN    THE    COMB. 


Our  camping-place,  when  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  I  found  to 
be  near  the  head  of  a  most  beautiful  comb  or  valley  among  the 
Black  Down  Hills.  I  knew  it  not  at  the  time,  but  it  was  not  far 
from  that  old  Roman  castle  which  we  had  passed  on  our  way 
to  Taunton,  called  Castle  Ratch.  The  hills  rose  steep  on  either 
hand,  their  slopes  hidden  by  trees.  At  our  feet  the  brook  took 
its  rise  in  a  green  quagmire.  The  birds  were  singing,  and  the 
sun  was  already  high  and  the  air  was  warm,  though  there  was  a 
fresh  breeze  blowing.  The  warmth  and  sweetness  filled  my  soul 
when  I  awoke,  and  I  sat  up  with  joy,  until,  suddenly,  I  remem- 
bered why  we  were  liere,  and  who  were  here  with  me.  Then  my 
heart  sank  like  a  lump  of  lead  in  water.  I  looked  around.  My 
father  lay  just  as  he  had  been  lying  all  the  day  before,  motionless, 
white  of  cheek,  and  as  one  dead,  save  for  the  slight  motion  of 
his  chest  and  the  twitching  of  his  nostril.  As  I  looked  at  him 
in  the  clear  morning  light  it  was  borne  in  upon  me  very  strong- 
ly that  he  was  indeed  dead,  inasmuch  as  his  soul  seemed  to  have 


174  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

fled ;  he  saw  notliing,  lie  felt  notliing ;  if  the  flies  crawled  over' 
his  eyelids  he  made  no  sign  of  disturbance ;  yet  he  breathed, 
and  from  time  to  time  he  spoke,  but  as  one  that  dreameth.  Be- 
side him  lay  my  mother  sleeping,  worn  out  by  the  fatigues  of 
the  night.  Barnaby  had  laid  his  coat  to  cover  her  so  that  she 
should  not  take  cold,  and  he  had  piled  a  little  heap  of  dead 
leaves  to  make  her  a  pillow.  He  was  lying  at  her  feet,  head  on 
arm,  sleeping  heavily.  What  should  be  done,  I  wondered,  when 
next  he  woke  ? 

First  I  went  down  the  comb  a  little  way  till  the  stream  was 
deep  enough,  and  there  I  bathed  my  feet,  which  were  swollen 
and  bruised  by  the  long  walk  up  the  comb.  In  the  midst  of  this 
misery  I  can  remember  the  pleasure  of  dabbling  my  feet  in  the 
cool  water,  and  afterwards  of  walking  about  barefoot  in  the  grass. 
(I  disturbed  an  adder  which  was  sleeping  on  a  flat  stone  in  the 
sun,  and  it  lifted  its  venomous  head  and  hissed,  but  did  not  spring 
upon  me.)  Then  I  washed  my  face  and  hands  and  made  my  hair 
as  smooth  as  without  a  comb  it  was  possible.  When  I  had  done 
this  I  remembered  that  perhaps  my  father  might  be  thirsty,  or 
at  least  able  to  drink,  because  he  seemed  no  more  to  feel  hunger 
or  thirst.  So  I  filled  the  tin  pannikin  (it  was  Barnaby's)  with 
water,  and  tried  to  pour  a  little  into  his  mouth.  He  seemed  to 
swallow  it  and  I  gave  him  a  little  more,  until  he  would  swallow 
no  more.  (Observe  that  he  took  no  other  nourishment  than 
wine  or  milk  or  a  few  drops  of  broth  until  the  end.)  So  I  cov- 
ered his  face  with  a  handkerchief  to  keep  off  the  flies,  and  left 
him.  Then  I  looked  into  the  basket.  All  that  there  was  in  it 
would  not  be  more  than  enough  for  Barnaby's  breakfast,  unless 
his  appetite  should  fail  him  for  fear  of  being  captured.  There 
was  in  it  a  piece  of  bacop,  a  large  loaf  of  bread,  a  lump  of 
cheese,  and  half  a  bottle  of  cider — nothing  more.  When  these 
provisions  were  done,  what  next  ?  Could  we  venture  into  the 
nearest  village  and  buy  food  ?  Or  to  the  first  farmhouse  ?  Then 
Ave  might  fall  straight  into  the  jaws  of  the  enemy,  who  were 
probably  running  over  the  whole  country  in  search  of  the  fugi- 
tives. Could  we  buy  without  money  ?  Could  we  buy  without 
arousing  suspicions  ?  If  the  people  were  well  inclined  to  the  Prot- 
estant cause  we  might  trust  them.  But  how  could  we  tell  that  ? 
So  in  my  mind  I  turned  over  everything  except  the  one  thing 
which  might  have  proved  our  salvation,  and  that  you  shall  hear 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  1*75 

directly.  Also,  which  was  a  very  strange  thing,  I  quite  forgot 
that  I  had  tied  by  a  string  round  my  waist  and  well  concealed 
Barnaby's  bag  of  gold — two  hundred  and  fifty  pieces.  There 
was  money  enough  and  to  spare.  I  discovered  next  that  our  pony 
had  run  away  in  the  night.  The  cart  was  there,  but  no  pony  to 
drag  it.  Well ;  it  was  not  much,  but  it  seemed  an  additional 
burden  to  bear.  I  ventured  a  little  way  up  the  valley,  following 
a  sheep  track  which  mounted  higher  and  higher.  I  saw  no  sign 
anywhere  of  man's  presence ;  it  is  marked  in  woods  by  circles 
of  burnt  cinders,  by  trees  felled,  by  bundles  of  broom  or  fern 
tied  up  ;  or  by  shepherds'  huts  !  Here  there  Avas  nothing  at  all ', 
you  would  have  said  that  the  place  had  never  been  visited  by 
man.  Presently  I  came  to  a  place  where  the  woods  ceased,  the 
last  of  the  trees  being  much  stunted  and  blown  over  from  the 
west ;  and  then  the  tof)  of  the  hill  began,  not  a  sharp  peak  or 
point,  but  a  great  open  plain  swelling  out  here  and  flat  there, 
with  many  of  the  little  hillocks  which  people  say  are  ancient 
tombs.  And  no  trees  at  all,  but  only  bare  turf,  so  that  one  could 
see  a  great  w^ay  off.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  man  anywhere ; 
no  smoke  in  the  comb  at  my  feet ;  no  shepherd  on  the  hill.  At 
this  juncture  of  our  fortunes  any  stranger  might  be  an  enemy. 
Therefore  I  returned  so  far  well  pleased. 

Barnaby  was  now  awake,  and  was  inspecting  the  basket  of  pro- 
visions. 

"  Sister,"  he  said,  "  we  must  go  upon  half  rations  for  break- 
fast, but  I  hope,  unless  my  skill  fails,  to  bring  you  something 
better  for  supper.  The  bread  you  shall  have  and  mother.  The 
bacon  may  keep  till  to-morrow.  The  cider  you  had  better  keep 
against  such  times  as  you  feel  worn  out  and  want  a  cordial, 
though  a  glass  of  Nantz  were  better,  if  Nantz  grew  in  the  woods." 
He  looked  around  as  if  to  see  whether  a  miracle  would  not  pro- 
vide him  with  a  flask  of  strong  drink,  but  seeing  none,  shook  his 
head. 

"  As  for  me,"  he  vfcnt  on,  "  I  am  a  sailor  and  I  understand  how 
to  forage.  Therefore,  yesterday  morning  I  took  the  liberty  of 
dropping  the  shank  of  the  ham  into  my  pocket.  Now  you  shall 
see." 

He  produced  this  delicate  morsel,  and  sitting  down  began  to 
gnaw  and  to  bite  into  the  bone  with  his  strong  teeth,  exactly  like 
a  dog.     This  he  continued  with  every  sign  of  satisfaction  for  a 


176  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  wlien  be  desisted  and  rej^laced  the  bone 
in  bis  pocket. 

"  We  throw  away  the  bones,"  be  said.  "  The  dogs  gnaw  them 
and  devour  them.  Think  you  that  it  is  for  their  amusement  ? 
Not  so ;  but  for  the  juices  and  the  nourishment  that  are  in  and 
around  the  bone  ;  for  the  marrow  and  for  the  meat  that  still  will 
stick  in  odd  corners."  He  went  down  to  the  stream  with  the 
pannikin  and  drank  a  cup  or  two  of  water  to  finish  what  they 
call  a  horse's  meal,  namely,  the  food  first  and  the  water  after- 
wards. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  I  have  breakfasted.  It  is  true  that  I 
am  still  hungry,  but  I  have  eaten  enough  to  carry  me  on  a  while. 
Many  a  poor  lad  cast  away  on  a  desert  shore  would  find  the 
shank  of  a  ham  a  meal  fit  for  a  king — ay — and  a  meal  or  two 
after  that.  I  shall  make  a  dinner  presently  off  this  bone.  And 
I  shall  still  keep  it  against  a  time  when  there  may  be  no  pro- 
vision left." 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  looking  around  him,  "  let  us  consider. 
The  troopers,  I  take  it,  are  riding  along  the  roads.  Whether 
they  will  ride  over  these  hills  I  know  not,  but  I  think  they 
will  not,  because  their  horses  cannot  well  ride  up  these  combs. 
Certainly,  if  they  do,  it  will  not  be  by  the  way  we  came.  We 
are  here,  therefore,  hidden  away  snug.  Why  should  we  budge  ? 
Nowhere  is  there  a  more  deserted  part  of  the  country  than 
Slack  Down,  on  whose  side  we  are.  And  I  do  not  think,  fur- 
ther, that  we  should  find  anywhere  a  safer  place  to  hide  our- 
selves in  than  this  comb,  where,  I  dare  to  say,  no  one  comes  un- 
less it  be  the  gypsies  or  the  broomsquires  all  the  year  round. 
And  now  they  are  all  laden  with  the  spoil  of  the  army ;  for 
after  a  battle  this  gentry  swoop  down  upon  the  field  like  the 
great  birds  which  I  have  seen  in  India  upon  the  carcasses  of 
drowned  beasts,  and  plunder  the  dead.  Next  they  must  go  into 
towns  in  order  to  sell  their  booty :  then  they  will  be  fain  to 
drink  about  till  all  is  spent :  so  they  will  leave  us  undisturbed. 
Therefore,  we  will  stay  here,  sister.  First  I  will  go  try  the  old 
tricks  by  which  I  did  often  in  the  olden  time  improve  the  fare 
at  home.  Next  I  will  devise  some  way  of  making  a  more  com- 
fortable resting-place.     Thank  the  Lord  for  fine  weather  so  far." 

He  was  gone  a  couple  of  hours.  During  that  time  my  mother 
awoke.     Her  mind  was  broken  by  the  suddenness  of  this  trouble, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  177 

and  she  cared  no  more  to  speak,  sitting  still  by  tlic  side  of  lier  hus- 
band and  watching  for  any  change  in  him.  But  I  persuaded 
her  to  take  a  little  bread  and  a  cup  of  cider. 

When  Barnaby  came  back  he  brought  with  him  a  blackbird,  a 
thrush,  and  two  wood-pigeons.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  tricks 
of  his  boyhood,  when  he  would  often  bring  home  a  rabbit,  a  hare, 
or  trout,  which  he  caught  with  a  pin  or  with  his  hand,  tickling 
them.  So  that  my  chief  terror,  that  we  might  be  forced  to  aban- 
don our  hiding-place  through  sheer  hunger,  was  removed.  But 
Barnaby  was  full  of  all  kinds  of  devices. 

lie  then  set  to  work  with  his  great  knife,  cutting  down  a  quan- 
tity of  green  branches,  which  he  laid  out  side  by  side  with  their 
leaves  on,  and  tlien,bound  them  together,  cleverly  interlacing  the 
smaller  shoots  and  branches  with  each  other,  so  that  he  made  a 
long  kind  of  hurdle  about  six  feet  high.  This,  which  by  reason 
of  the  leaves  was  almost  impervious  to  the  wind,  he  disposed 
round  the  trunks  of  three  young  trees  growing  near  each  other. 
Thus  he  made  a  small  three-cornered  enclosure.  Again,  he  cut 
other  and  thicker  branches,  and  laid  them  over  and  across  this 
hurdle,  and  cut  turf,  which  he  placed  upon  the  branches,  so  that 
here  was  now  a  hut  with  a  roof  and  walls  complete.  Said  I  not 
that  Barnaby  was  full  of  devices  ? 

"  There,"  he  said,  when  all  was  ready,  "  is  a  house  for  you. 
It  will  have  to  rain  hard  and  long  before  the  water  begins  to 
drop  through  the  branches  which  make  the  roof  and  the  slabs 
of  turf.  Well,  'tis  a  shelter.  Not  so  comfortable  as  the  old 
cottage,  perhaps,  but  nearly  as  commodious.  If  it  is  not  a  pal- 
ace, it  will  serve  us  to  keep  off  the  sun  by  day  and  the  dew  by 
night." 

Next  he  gathered  a  great  quantity  of  dry  fern,  dead  leaves, 
and  heather ;  and  these  he  disposed  within  the  hut  so  that  they 
made  a  thick  and  warm  carpet  or  covering.  Nay,  at  night  they 
even  formed  a  covering  for  the  feet,  and  prevented  one  from 
feeling  cold.  When  all  was  done,  he  lifted  my  father  gently, 
and  laid  him  with  great  tenderness  upon  the  carpet  within  the 
rude  shelter. 

"This  shall  be  a  warmer  night  for  thee  than  the  last,  dad," 

he  said.     "  There  shall  be  no  jolting  of  thy  poor  bones.    What, 

mother?     We  can  live  here  till  the  cold  weather  comes.     The 

wind  will  perhaps  blow  a  bit  through  the  leaves  to-night,  but  not 

8*  .  M 


178  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

much,  and  to-morrow  I  will  see  to  that.  Be  easy  in  your  mind 
about  the  provisions  " — alas  !  my  poor  mother  was  thinking  of 
anything  in  the  world  except  the  provisions — "  there  are  rabbits 
and  birds  in  plenty,  we  can  eat  them ;  bread  Ave  must  do  with- 
out when  what  we  have  is  gone ;  and  as  for  strong  drink  and 
tobacco" — he  sighed  heavily — "they  will  come  again  when  bet- 
ter times  are  served  out." 

In  these  labors  I  helped  as  much  as  I  was  able,  and  particu- 
larly in  twisting  the  branches  together,  and  thus  the  whole  day 
passed,  not  tediously,  and  without  any  alarms,  the  labor  being 
cheered  by  the  hopefulness  of  Barnaby's  honest  face.  No  one, 
to  look  at  that  face,  could  believe  that  he  was  flying  for  his  life, 
and  would  be  hanged  if  he  were  caught.  After  sunset  we  lit  a 
fire,  but  a  small  one  only,  and  well  hidden  by  the  woods,  so  that 
its  light  might  not  be  seen  from  below.  Then  Barnaby  dexter- 
ously plucked  and  trussed  the  birds,  and  roasted  them  in  the 
embers,  so  that,  had  my  heart  been  at  rest,  I  should  have  had  a 
most  delicious  supper.  And  I  confess  that  I  did  begin  to  pluck 
up  a  little  courage,  and  to  hope  that  we  might  yet  escape,  and 
that  Robin  might  be  living.  After  supper  my  mother  prayed, 
and  I  could  join  with  more  of  resignation  and  something  of  faith. 
Alas !  in  times  of  trial,  how  easily  doth  the  Christian  fall  from 
faith  !  The  day  before  prayer  seemed  to  me  a  mockery  ;  it  was 
as  if  all  prayer  were  addressed  to  a  deaf  God,  or  to  one  who 
will  not  hear ;  for  our  prayers  had  all  been  for  safety  and  vic- 
tory, and  we  were  suddenly  answered  with  disaster  and  defeat. 

After  supper  Barnaby  sat  beside  the  embers  and  began  to 
talk  in  a  low  voice. 

"'Twill  be  a  sorrowful  barley-mow  song  this  year,"  he  said; 
"  a  dozen  brave  lads  from  Bradford  alone  will  be  dead." 

"  Not  all  dead,  Barnaby.     Oh,  not  all !" 

"  I  know  not.  Some  are  prisoners,  some  are  dead,  some  are 
running  away."     Then  he  began  to  sing,  in  a  low  voice, 

" '  HcFe's  a  health  to  the  barley-mow  !' 

"  I  remember,  sister,  when  I  would  run  a  mile  to  hear  that 
song,  though  my  father  flogged  me  for  it  in  the  morning.  'Tis 
the  best  song  ever  written."  He  went  on  singing,  in  a  kind  of 
whisper, 

"  '  We'll  drink  it  out  of  the  nipperkin,  boys.' 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  179 

"Robin  was  a  famous  hand  at  singing  it,  but  Ilumplirey  found 
the  words  too  rustical.  Humphrey  was  ever  for  fine  words,  like 
Mr.  Boscorel. 

"  '  We'll  drink  it  out  of  the  jolly  brown  bowl.' 

"  I  think  I  see  him  now — poor  Robin  !  Well,  he  is  no  more. 
He  used  to  laugh  in  all  our  faces  while  he  sans:  it. 

"  '  We'll  drink  it  out  o'  the  river,  my  boys ; 

Here's  a  health  to  the  barley-mow  ! 

The  river,  the  well,  the  pipe,  the  hogshead,  the  half-hogshead,  the  anker, 
the  half-anker,  the  gallon,  the  pottle,  the  quart,  the  pint,  the  half- 
pint,  the  quarter-pint,  the  nipperkin,  the  jolly  brown  bowl,  my  boys. 

Here's  a  health  to  the  barley-mow  !'  " 

He  trolled  out  the  song  in  a  melodious  whisper.  Oh,  Bar- 
naby,  how  didst  thou  love  good  companionship,  with  singing  and 
drinking ! 

"  'Twill  be  lonely  for  thee,  sister,  at  Bradford,  when  thou  dost 
return.  Sir  Christopher,  I  take  it,  will  not  long  hold  up  his 
head,  and  madam  will  pine  away  for  the  loss  of  Robin,  and 
mother  looks  as  if  she  would  follow  after,  so  white  and  wan  is 
she  to  look  at.  If  she  would  speak  or  complain  or  cry  it  would 
comfort  her,  poor  soul !  'Twas  a  sad  day  for  her  when  she 
married  the  poor  old  dad.  Poverty  and  hard  work,  and  now  a 
cruel  end  to  her  marriage — poor  mother  !" 

"  Barnaby,  you  tear  my  heart." 

"  Nay,  child,  'tis  better  to  talk  than  to  keep  silence.  Better 
have  your  heart  torn  than  be  choked  with  your  pain.  Thou  art 
like  unto  a  man  who  hath  a  wounded  leg,  and  if  he  doth  not 
consent  to  have  it  cut  off,  though  the  anguish  be  sharp,  he  will 
presently  bleed  to  death.  Say  to  thyself,  therefore,  plain  and 
clear,  '  Robin  is  dead  ;  I  have  lost  my  sweetheart.'  " 

"  No  !  no  !  Barnaby.  I  cannot  say  those  cruel  words.  Oh, 
I  cannot  say  them.     I  cannot  feel  that  Robin  is  truly  dead." 

"  Put  the  case  that  he  is  living.  Then  he  is  either  a  prisoner 
or  he  is  in  hiding.  If  a  prisoner,  he  is  as  good  as  dead,  because 
the  duke's  officers  and  the  gentlemen  who  joined  him  they  will 
never  forgive,  that  is  quite  certain.  If  I  were  a  prisoner  I  should 
feel  my  neck  already  tightened.  If  he  is  not  a  prisoner,  where 
is  he  to  hide  ?  whither  betake  himself  ?  I  can  get  sailors'  duds, 
and  go  abroad  before  the  mast,  and  ten  to  one  nobody  will  find 
me  out ;  because,  d'ye  see,  I  can  talk  the  sailors'  language,  and 


180  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  know  their  manners  and  customs.  But  Robin — what  is  Robin 
to  do  ?  Best  say  to  thyself,  '  I  have  lost  my  sweetheart.'  So 
wilt  thou  all  the  sooner  recover  thy  cheerfulness." 

*'  Barnaby,  you  know  not  what  you  say.  Alas  !  if  my  Robin 
is  dead,  if  my  boy  is  truly  dead,  then  I  ask  for  nothing  more 
than  swift  death,  speedy  death,  to  join  him  and  be  with  him." 

"  If  he  escape,  he  will  make  for  Bradford  Orcas,  and  hide  in 
the  Gorton  woods.  That  is  quite  certain.  They  always  make 
for  home.  I  would  that  we  were  in  that  friendly  place,  so  that 
you  could  go  live  in  the  cottage,  and  bring  provisions,  with  to- 
bacco, to  us,  unsuspected  and  unseen.  When  we  have  rested  here 
awhile  we  will  push  across  the  hills,  and  try  to  get  along  by 
night ;  but  it  is  a  weary  way  to  drag  that  wounded  man.  How- 
ever— "  he  broke  oflf,  and  said,  earnestly,  "  Make  up  thy  mind, 
child,  to  the  worst.  'Tis  as  if  a  shi];)wrecked  man  should  hope 
that  enough  of  the  ship  would  float  to  carry  him  home  withal. 
Make  up  thy  mind.  We  are  all  ruined  and  lost — all — all — all. 
Thy  father  is  dying  ;  thy  lover  is  dead  ;  thou  art  thyself  in  great 
danger  by  reason  of  that  affair  at  Taunton.  Everything  being 
gone,  turn  round,  therefore,  and  make  thyself  as  comfortable  as 
possible.  What  will  happen  we  know  not.  Therefore  count 
every  day  of  safety  for  gain,  and  every  meal  for  a  respite." 

He  was  silent  for  a  while,  leaving  me  to  think  over  what  he 
had  said.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  philosopher.  Things  being  all 
lost,  and  our  affairs  in  a  desperate  condition,  we  were  to  turn 
round  and  make  ourselves  as  comfortable  as  we  could.  This,  I 
suppose,  is  what  sailors  are  wont  to  do  ;  certainly  they  are  a  folk 
more  exposed  to  misfortune  than  others,  and  therefore,  perhaps, 
more  ready  to  make  the  best  of  Avhatever  happens. 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  presently,  "  how  can  I  turn  round  and 
make  myself  comfortable  ?" 

"  The  evening  is  still,"  he  said,  without  replying.  "  See,  there 
is  a  bat,  and  there  another.  If  it  were  not  for  the  trouble  in 
there  " — he  pointed  to  the  hut — "  I  should  be  easy  in  my  mind 
and  contented.  I  could  willingly  live  here  a  twelvemonth.  Why, 
compared  with  the  lot  of  the  poor  devils  who  must  now  be  in 
prison,  what  is  ours?  They  get  the  foul  and  stinking  drink, 
with  bad  food,  in  the  midst  of  wounded  men  whose  hurts  are 
putrefying,  with  jail  fever,  and  with  the  whipping-post  or  the 
gallows  to  come.     We  breathe  sweet  air ;  we  find  suflScient  food. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  181 

To-morrow,  if  I  know  any  of  the  signs,  tliou  slialt  taste  a  roasted 
hedgehog,  dish  fit  for  a  king,  I  found  at  the  bottom  of  the 
comb  a  pot  left  by  some  gypsies.  Thou  shalt  have  boiled  sor- 
rel and  mushrooms  to  thy  supper.  If  we  stay  here  long  enough 
there  will  be  nuts  and  blackberries  and  whortleberries.  Pity, 
a  thousand  pities,  there  is  not  a  drop  of  drink.  I  dream  of 
punch  and  hipsy.  Think  upon  what  remains,  even  if  thou  canst 
not  bear  to  think  of  what  is  lost.  Hast  ever  seen  a  tall  shi^) 
founder  in  the  waves  ?  They  close  over  her  as  she  sinks,  and 
in  an  instant  it  is  as  if  that  tall  ship,  with  all  her  crew,  had  never 
been  in  existence  at  all.  The  army  of  Monmouth  is  scattered 
and  ruined.  Well,  it  is  with  us,  midst  these  woods,  just  as  if 
there  had  been  no  army.  It  has  been  a  dream,  perhaps.  Who 
can  tell  ?  sometimes  all  the  past  seems  to  me  to  have  been  a 
dream.  And  the  future  is  a  dream.  But  the  present  we  have. 
Let  us  be  content  therewith." 

He  spoke  slowly,  and  with  measured  accents,  as  one  enchanted. 

"  It  is  ten  years  and  more  since  last  I  breathed  the  air  of  the 
hills.  I  knew  not  that  I  loved  so  much  the  woods  and  valleys 
and  the  streams.  Some  day,  if  I  survive  this  adventure,  I  will 
build  me  a  hut  and  live  here,  alone  in  the  woods.  Why,  if  I 
were  alone,  I  should  have  an  easy  heart.  If  I  were  driven  out 
of  one  place  I  could  find  another.  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  get  down 
among  men  and  towns.  Let  us  all  stay  here  and  be  happy. 
But  there  is  dad — who  lives  not,  yet  is  not  dead.  Sister,  be 
thankful  for  thy  safety  in  the  woods,  and  think  not  too  much 
upon  the  dead." 

We  lived  in  this  manner,  the  weather  being  for  the  most 
part  fine  and  warm,  but  with  showers  now  and  then,  for  a  fort- 
night or  thereabouts,  no  one  coming  up  the  comb  and  there  be- 
ing still  no  sign  of  man's  presence  in  the  hills.  Our  daily  fare 
consisted  of  the  wuld  birds  snared  by  Barnaby,  such  creatures 
as  rabbits,  hedgehogs,  and  the  like,  which  he  caught  by  ingen- 
ious ways,  and  trout  from  the  brook,  which  he  caught  with  a 
twisted  pin  very  dexterously ;  there  were  also  mushrooms  and 
edible  leaves,  such  as  the  nettle,  wild  sorrel,  and  the  like,  of  which 
he  knew ;  these  we  boiled  and  ate.  He  also  plucked  the  half- 
ripe  blackberries  and  boiled  them  to  make  a  sour  drink  that 
would  grip  his  throat,  because  he  could  not  endure  plain  cold 
water.     And  he  made  out  of  the  bones  of  the  birds  a  kind  of 


182  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

thin  brotli  for  my  father,  of  Avhicli  lie  daily  swallowed  a  tea- 
spoonful  or  so.  So  that  we  fared  well,  if  not  sumptuously. 
The  bread,  to  be  sure,  which  Barnaby  left  for  mother  and  me, 
was  coming  to  the  last  crust,  and  I  know  not  how  we  should 
have  got  more  without  venturing  into  the  nearest  village. 

Now  as  I  talked  every  night  with  my  brother  I  found  out 
what  a  brave  and  simple  soul  it  was ;  always  cheerful  and  hope- 
ful, talking  always  as  if  we  were  the  most  fortunate  people  in 
the  world,  instead  of  the  most  miserable,  and  yet,  by  keeping 
the  truth  before  me,  preventing  me  from  getting  into  another 
fool's  paradise  as  to  our  safety  and  Robin's  escape,  such  as  that 
into  which  I  had  fallen  after  the  army  marched  out  of  Taunton. 
I  understand  now  that  he  was  always  thinking  how  to  smooth 
and  soften  things  for  me,  so  that  I  might  not  go  distracted  with 
anxiety  and  grief,  finding  work  for  me,  talking  to  me  about 
other  things — in  short,  the  most  thoughtful  and  affectionate 
brother  in  all  the  world.  As  for  my  mother,  he  could  do  noth- 
ing to  move  her.  She  still  sat  beside  her  wounded  husband, 
watching  all  day  long  for  any  sign  of  consciousness  or  change. 

Seeing  that  Barnaby  was  so  good  and  gentle  a  creature,  1 
could  not  understand  how  it  was  that  in  the  old  time  he  used 
to  get  a  flogging  most  days  for  some  offence  or  other,  so  that  I 
had  grown  up  to  believe  him  a  very  wicked  boy  indeed.  I  put 
this  question  to  him  one  night. 

He  put  it  aside  for  a  while,  replying  in  his  own  fashion. 

*'  I  remember  dad,"  he  said,  "  before  thou  canst,  sister.  He 
was  always  thin  and  tall,  and  he  always  stooped  as  he  walked. 
But  his  hair,  which  now  is  white,  was  brown  and  fell  in  curls 
which  he  could  not  straighten.  He  was  always  mighty  grave  ;  no 
one,  I  am  sure,  ever  saw  him  laugh.  I  have  never  seen  him  so 
much  as  smile  except  sometimes  when  he  dandled  thee  upon  his 
knee,  and  thou  wouldst  amuse  him  with  innocent  prattle.  All  his 
life  he  hath  spent  in  finding  out  the  way  to  heaven.  I  suppose 
he  hath  truly  discovered  a  way,  and  a  mighty  thorny  and  dif- 
ficult way  it  is,  so  that  I  know  not  how  any  can  succeed  in 
reaching  that  port  by  such  navigation.  The  devil  of  it  is,  that 
he  believes  there  is  no  other  way ;  and  he  seemed  never  so  hap- 
py as  when  he  had  found  another  trap  or  pitfall  to  catch  the 
unwary  and  send  them  straight  to  hell. 

"  For  my  part,"  Barnaby  went  on,  slowly,  "  I  could  never  love 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  183 

such  a  life.  Let  others,  if  they  will,  find  out  the  rough  and 
craggy  ways  to  heaven.  For  my  part,  I  am  content  to  go  along 
the  plain  and  smooth  high-road  -with  the  rest  of  mankind, 
though  it  lands  us  at  a  lower  place  in  heaven.  AVell,  I  dare 
say  I  shall  find  mates,  and  we  will  be  as  comfortable  as  we  can. 
Let  my  father  find  out  what  is  coming  in  the  other  world ;  let 
me  take  what  comes  in  this.  Some  of  it  is  sweet  and  some  is 
bitter,  some  of  it  makes  us  laugh  and  sing  and  dance,  and 
some  makes  us  curse  and  swear  and  bellow  out,  as  when  one  is 
lashed  to  the  hatches  and  the  cat  falls  on  his  naked  back.  Some- 
times, sister,  I  think  the  naked  negroes  of  the  West  Coast  the 
happiest  people  in  the  world.  Do  they  trouble  their  heads  about 
the  way  to  heaven  ?  Not  they.  What  comes  they  take,  and 
they  ask  no  more.  lias  it  made  dad  the  happier  to  find  out 
how  few  are  those  who  will  sit  beside  him  in  heaven  ?  Not  so  , 
he  would  have  been  happier  if  he  had  been  a  jolly  ploughboy 
whistling  to  his  team,  or  a  jolly  sailor  singing  over  his  panni- 
kin of  drink  of  a  Saturday  night.  He  tried  to  make  me  follow 
in  his  footsteps ;  he  flogged  me  daily  in  the  hope  of  making 
me  take  like  himself  to  the  trade  of  proving  to  people  out  of 
the  Holy  Bible  that  they  are  surely  damned.  The  more  he 
flogged  the  less  I  yearned  after  that  trade,  till  at  last  I  resolved 
that,  come  what  would,  I  would  never  thump  a  pulpit  like  him  in 
conventicle  or  church.  Then,  if  you  will  believe  me,  sister,  I  grew 
tired  of  flogging,  which  when  it  comes  every  day  wearies  a  boy 
at  fourteen  or  fifteen  more  than  you  would  think ;  and  one  day 
while  I  was  dancing  to  the  pipe  and  tabor  with  some  of  the 
village  girls,  as  bad  luck  would  have  it,  dad  came  by.  "  Child  of 
Satan  !"  he  cried,  seizing  me  by  the  ear.  Then  to  the  girls, 
"  Your  laughter  shall  be  turned  into  mourning,"  and  so  lugged 
me  home  and  sent  me  supperless  to  bed  with  the  promise  of 
such  a  flogging  in  the  morning  as  should  make  all  previous 
floggings  seem  mere  fleabites  or  joyous  ticklings  in  comparison. 
This  decided  me.  So,  in  the  dead  of  night,  I  crept  softly  down 
the  stairs,  cut  myself  a  great  hunch  of  bread-and-cheese,  and  so 
ran  away  and  went  to  sea." 

"  Barnaby,  was  it  well  done — to  run  away  ?" 

"  Well,  sister,  'tis  done,  and  if  it  was  ill  done,  'tis  now,  no 
doubt,  forgotten.  Now,  remember,  I  blame  not  my  father ;  be- 
fore all  things  he  would  save  my  soul  alive.     That  was  why  he 


184  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

flogged  me.  He  knew  but  one  way,  and  along  that  way  lie 
would  drive  me.  So  he  flogged  me  the  harder,  I  blame  him 
not.  Yet  had  I  remained  he  would  doubtless  be  flogging  me  still. 
Now,  remember  again,  that  ever  since  I  understood  anything  I 
have  always  been  enraged  to  think  upon  the  monstrous  oppres- 
sion which  silenced  him  and  brought  us  all  to  poverty,  and  made 
my  mother,  a  gentlewoman  born,  work  her  fingers  to  the  bone, 
and  caused  me  to  choose  between  being  a  beggarly  scholar, 
driven  to  teach  brats  and  endure  flouts  and  poverty,  or  to  put 
on  an  apron  and  learn  a  trade.  Therefore,  when  I  found  that 
Monmouth  was  going  to  hoist  his  flag,  I  came  with  him  in  order 
to  strike  a  blow,  and  I  hoped  a  good  blow  too,  at  the  oppressors." 

"  You  have  struck  that  blow,  Barnaby ;  and  where  are  we  ?" 

He  laughed. 

"  We  are  in  hiding.  Some  of  the  king's  troopers  did  I  make 
to  bite  the  dust.  They  may  hang  me  for  it  if  they  will ;  they 
will  not  bring  those  troopers  back  to  life.  Well,  sister,  I  am 
sleepy.     Good-night." 

We  might  have  continued  this  kind  of  life  I  know  not  how 
much  longer,  certainly  till  the  cold  nights  came.  The  weather 
continued  fine  and  warm ;  the  hut  kept  off  dews  at  night ;  we 
lay  warm  among  the  heather  and  the  ferns ;  Barnaby  found  a 
sufficiency  of  food ;  my  father  grew  no  worse  to  outward  seem- 
ing, and  we  seemed  in  safety. 

Then  an  ill  chance  and  my  own  foolishness  marred  all. 

One  day  in  the  afternoon,  Barnaby  being  away  looking  after 
his  snares  and  gins,  I  heard  lower  down  the  comb  voices  of 
boys  talking.  This  affrighted  me  terribly.  The  voices  seemed 
to  be  drawing  nearer.  Now,  if  the  children  came  up  as  high  as 
our  encampment  they  could  not  fail  to  see  the  signs  of  habita- 
tion. There  was  the  hut  among  the  trees  and  the  iron  pot 
standing  among  the  gray  embers  of  last  night's  fire.  The  cart 
stood  on  one  side.  We  could  not  possibly  remain  hidden.  If 
they  should  come  up  so  far  and  find  us  they  would  certainly 
carry  the  report  of  us  down  to  the  village. 

I  considered,  therefore,  what  to  do,  and  then  ran  quickly  down 
the  comb,  keeping  among  the  trees  so  as  not  to  be  seen. 

After  a  little  I  discovered  a  little  way  off  a  couple  of  boys 
about  nine  years  of  age.  They  were  common  village  boys,  rosy- 
faced  and  wholesome ;  they  carried  a  basket  and  they  were 


"  *  Boys,'  I  said,  'beware!  if  you  go  higher  up  the  comb  you  will  certainly 
meet  wild  men,  who  always  rob  and  beat  boys.'" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  185 

slowly  making  their  way  up  the  stream,  stopping  now  to  throw 
a  stone  at  a  squirrel,  and  now  to  dam  the  running  water,  and 
now  looking  to  find  a  nut  or  filbert  ripe  enough  to  be  eaten. 
By  the  basket  which  they  carried  I  knew  that  they  were  come 
in  search  of  whortleberries,  for  which  purpose  they  would  have 
to  get  quite  to  the  end  of  the  comb  and  the  top  of  the  hill. 

Therefore  I  stepped  out  of  the  wood  and  asked  them  whence 
they  came  and  whither  they  were  going. 

They  told  me  in  the  broadest  Somersetshire  (the  language 
which  I  love  and  would  willingly  have  written  this  book  in  it, 
but  for  the  unfortunate  people  who  cannot  understand  it)  that 
they  were  sent  by  their  parents  to  get  whortleberries,  and  that 
they  came  from  the  little  village  of  Corfe,  two  miles  down  the 
valley.  This  was  all  they  had  to  say,  and  they  stared  at  me  as 
shyly  as  if  they  had  never  before  encountered  a  stranger.  I 
clearly  perceive  now  that  I  ought  to  have  engaged  them  in  con- 
versation and  drawn  them  gently  down  the  valley  in  the  direc- 
tion of  their  village  until  we  reached  the  first  appearance  of  a 
road,  when  I  could  have  bidden  them  farewell  or  sent  them  up 
the  hill  by  another  comb.  But  I  was  so  anxious  that  they 
should  not  come  up  any  higher  that  I  committed  a  great  mis- 
take and  warned  them  against  going  on. 

"Boys,"  I  said,  "beware!  If  you  go  higher  up  the  comb 
you  will  certainly  meet  wild  men  *  who  always  rob  and  beat 
boys " — here  they  trembled,  though  they  had  not  a  penny  in 
the  world.  "  Ay,  boys,  and  sometimes  have  been  known  to  mur- 
der them.     Turn  back — turn  back — and  come  no  further." 

The  boys  were  very  much  frightened,  partly  at  the  apparition 
of  a  stranger  where  they  expected  to  find  no  one,  and  partly  at 
the  news  of  wild  and  murderous  men  in  a  place  where  they  had 
never  met  with  any  one  at  all,  unless  it  might  have  been  a  gypsy 
camp.  After  gazing  at  me  stupidly  for  a  little  while  they 
turned  and  ran  away  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them, 
down  the  comb. 

I  watched  them  running,  and  when  they  were  out  of  sight  I 
went  back  again,  still  disquieted,  because  they  might  return. 

When  I  told  Barnaby  in  the  evening,  he,  too,  was  uneasy. 
For,  he  said,  the  boys  would  spread  abroad  the  report  that  there 
were  people  in  the  valley.  What  people  could  they  be  but  fu- 
gitives ? 


186  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

"  Sister,"  he  said,  "  to-morrow  morning  must  we  change  our 
quarters.  On  the  other  side  of  the  hills  looking  south  or  to  the 
east  in  Neroche  Forest  we  may  make  another  camp  and  be  still 
more  secluded.     For  to-night  I  think  we  are  in  safety." 

What  happened  was  exactly  as  Barnaby  thought.  For  the 
lads  ran  home  and  told  everybody  that  up  in  the  comb  there 
were  wild  men  who  robbed  and  murdered  people  ;  that  a  lady  had 
come  out  of  the  wood  and  warned  them  to  go  no  further  lest 
they  should  be  robbed  and  murdered.  They  were  certain  it 
was  a  lady  and  not  a  country  woman,  nor  was  it  a  witch,  nor  a 
fairy  or  elf,  of  whom  there  are  many  on  Black  Down.  No,  it 
was  a  young  lady. 

This  strange  circumstance  naturally  set  the  villagers  a-talking  ; 
they  talked  about  it  at  the  inn  whither  they  nightly  repaired. 

In  ordinary  times  they  might  have  talked  about  it  to  their 
heart's  content  and  no  harm  done,  but  in  these  times  talk  was 
dangerous.  In  every  little  village  there  are  one  or  two  whose 
wits  are  sharper  than  the  rest,  and  therefore  they  do  instigate 
whatever  mischief  is  done  in  that  village.  At  Corfe  the  cobbler 
it  was  who  did  the  mischief.  For  he  sat  thinking  while  the 
others  talked,  and  he  presently  began  to  understand  that  there 
was  more  in  this  than  his  fellows  imagined.  He  knew  the  hills  ; 
there  were  no  wild  men  upon  them  who  would  rob  and  murder 
two  simple  village  boys ;  gypsies  there  were,  and  broom-squires 
sometimes,  and  hedge-tearers,  but  murderers  of  boys,  none.  And 
who  was  the  young  lady  ?  Then  he  guessed  the  whole  truth. 
There  were  people  lying  hidden  in  the  comb  ;  if  people  hidden, 
they  were  Monmouth's  rebels.  A  reward  would  be  given  for 
their  capture.  Fired  with  this  thought,  he  grasped  his  cudgel 
and  walked  off  to  the  village  of  Orchard  Portman  where,  as  he 
had  heard,  there  was  a  company  of  grenadiers  sent  out  to  scour 
the  country.  He  laid  his  information  and  received  the  promise 
of  reward.  He  got  that  reward  in  short,  but  nothing  prospered 
with  him  afterwards.  His  neighbors,  who  Avere  all  for  Mon- 
mouth, learned  what  he  had  done  and  shunned  him ;  he  grew 
moody,  he  fell  into  poverty,  Avho  had  been  a  thriving  tradesman, 
and  he  died  in  a  ditch.  The  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  some- 
times swift  and  sometimes  slow,  yet  they  are  always  sure.  Who 
can  forget  the  dreadful  end  of  Tom  Boilman,  as  he  was  called, 
the  only  wretch  who  could  be  found  to  cut  up  the  limbs  of  the 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  187 

liangcd  men  and  dip  tliem  in  the  caldrons  of  jjitch  ?  For  lie 
was  struck  dead  by  lightning — an  awful  instance  of  the  wrath 
of  God. 

Early  next  morning,  about  five  of  the  clock,  I  sat  before  the 
hut  in  the  shade.  Barnaby  was  up  and  had  gone  to  look  at  his 
snares.  Suddenly  I  heard  steps  below,  and  the  sound  as  of 
weapons  clashing  against  each  other.  Then  a  man  came  into 
sight — a  fellow  he  was  with  a  leathern  apron,  who  stood  gazing 
about  him.  There  was  no  time  for  me  to  hide,  because  he  im- 
mediately saw  me  and  shouted  to  them  behind  him  to  come  on 
quickly.  Then  a  dozen  soldiers,  all  armed,  ran  out  of  the  wood 
and  made  for  the  hut. 

"  Gentlemen,"  I  cried,  running  to  meet  them,  "  Whom  seek 
you  ?" 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  asked  one  who  seemed  to  be  a  sergeant 
over  them.     "  Why  are  you  in  hiding  ?" 

Then  a  thought  struck  me.  I  know  not  if  I  were  wise  or 
foolish. 

"  Sir,"  I  replied.  "  My  father  it  is  true  was  Avith  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth,  but  he  was  wounded  and  now  lies  dead  in  this 
hut.     You  will  suffer  us  to  bury  our  dead  in  peace." 

"  Dead,  is  he  ?     That  will  we  soon  see." 

So  saying,  he  entered  the  hut  and  looked  at  the  prostrate  form. 
He  lifted  one  hand  and  let  it  drop.  It  fell  like  the  hand  of  one 
who  is  recently  dead.  He  bent  over  the  body  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  forehead.  It  was  cold  as  death.  The  lips  were  pale 
as  wax  and  the  cheeks  were  white.  He  opened  an  eye ;  there 
was  no  expression  or  light  in  it. 

"  Humph  !"  he  said,  "  He  seems  dead.  How  did  he  come 
here  ?" 

"  My  mother  and  I  drove  him  here  for  safety  in  yonder  cart. 
The  pony  hath  run  away." 

"That  may  be  so.  That  may  be  so.  He  is  dressed  in  a 
cassock.     What  is  his  name  ?" 

"  He  was  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin,  an  ejected  minister  and  preacher 
in  the  duke's  army." 

"  A  prize  if  he  had  been  alive,"  Then  a  sudden  suspicion 
seized  him.  He  had  in  his  hand  a  drawn  sword.  He  pointed 
it  at  the  breast  of  the  dead  man.  "  If  he  be  truly  dead,"  he 
said,  "  another  wound  will  do  him  no  harm.     AATierefore  " — he 


188  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

made  as  if  he  would  drive  tlie  sword  througli  my  father's  breast, 
and  my  mother  shrieked  and  threw  herself  across  the  body. 

"  So,"  he  said,  with  a  horrid  grin,  "  I  find  that  he  is  not  dead, 
but  only  wounded.  My  lads,  here  is  one  of  Monmouth's  preach- 
ers.    But  he  is  sore  wounded." 

"  Oh !"  I  cried.  "  For  the  love  of  God  suffer  him  to  die  in 
peace." 

"  Ay,  ay,  he  shall  die  in  peace,  I  promise  you  so  much. 
Meanwhile,  madam,  we  will  take  better  care  of  him  in  Ilminster 
Jail  than  you  can  do  here.  The  air  is  raw  upon  these  hills." 
The  fellow  had  a  glib  tongue  and  a  mocking  manner.  "  You 
have  none  of  the  comforts  which  a  wounded  man  requires.  They 
are  all  to  be  found  in  Ilminster  prison,  whither  we  shall  carry 
him.  There  will  he  have  nothing  to  think  about,  with  every- 
thing found  for  him.  Madam,  your  father  will  be  well  bestowed 
with  us." 

At  that  moment  I  heard  the  footsteps  of  Barnaby  crunching 
among  the  brushwood. 

"  Fly,  Barnaby,  fly,"  I  shrieked.     "  The  enemy  is  upon  us." 

He  did  not  fly.  He  came  running.  He  rushed  upon  the 
soldiers  and  hurled  this  man  one  way  and  that  man  another, 
swinging  his  long  arms  like  a  pair  of  cudgels.  Had  he  had  a 
cudgel  I  believe  he  Avould  have  sent  them  all  flying.  But  he 
had  nothing  except  his  arms  and  his  fists.  And  in  a  minute  or 
two  the  soldiers  had  surrounded  him,  each  with  a  bayonet  pointed, 
and  such  a  look  in  every  man's  eye  as  meant  murder  had  Bar- 
naby moved. 

"  Surrender,"  said  the  sergeant. 

Barnaby  looked -around  leisurely. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I  must.  As  for  my  name,  it  is 
Barnaby  Eykin,  and  for  my  rank,  captain  in  the  Green  Regiment 
of  the  duke's  valiant  army." 

"  Stop,"  said  the  sergeant,  drawing  a  paper  from  his  pocket. 

"  Captain  Eykin,"  he  began  to  read,  "  has  been  a  sailor.  Rolls 
in  his  walk.  Height  about  five  foot  five.  Very  broad  in  the 
shoulders.     Long  in  the  arms,  of  great  strength." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Barnaby,  complacently. 

"  Bandy  legs." 

"  Brother,"  said  Barnaby,  "  is  that  so  writ?" 

"  It  is  so,  captain." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  189 

"  I  did  not  think,"  said  Bnrnaby,  "  that  the  malignity  of  the 
enemy  would  be  carried  so  far.  Bandy  legs  !  Yet  you  see — 
Well,  fall  in,  sergeant.     We  are  your  prisoners.     Bandy  legs  !" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

JUDGE     JEFFREYS. 


How  can  I  tell  —  oh,  how  can  I  sit  down  to  tell  in  cold 
blood  the  story  of  all  that  followed  !  Some  parts  of  it  for  very 
pity  I  must  pass  over.  All  that  has  been  told  or  written  of  the 
Bloody  Assize  is  most  true,  and  yet  not  half  that  happened  can 
be  told.  There  are  things,  I  mean,  which  the  historian  cannot 
for  the  sake  of  pity,  decency,  and  consideration  for  living  peo- 
ple relate,  even  if  he  hath  seen  them.  You  who  read  the  printed 
page  may  learn  how  in  one  place  so  many  were  hanged ;  in  an- 
other place  so  many  ;  how  some  were  hanged  in  gemmaces,  so  that 
at  every  cross-road  there  was  a  frightful  gibbet  with  a  dead  man 
on  it ;  how  some  died  of  small-pox  in  the  crowded  prisons,  and 
some  of  fever ;  and  how  Judge  Jeffreys  rode  from  town  to  town 
followed  by  gangs  of  miserable  prisoners  driven  after  him  to 
stand  their  trial  in  towns  where  they  would  be  known ;  how 
the  wretched  sufferers  were  drawn  and  quartered,  and  their  limbs 
seethed  in  pitch  and  stuck  up  over  the  whole  country ;  how  the 
women  and  boys  of  tender  years  were  flogged  through  market 
towns — you,  I  say,  who  read  these  things  on  the  cold  page  pres- 
ently (even  if  you  be  a  stickler  for  the  right  divine  and  hold 
rebellion  as  a  mortal  sin)  feel  your  blood  to  boil  with  righteous 
wrath.  The  hand  of  the  Lord  was  afterwards  heavy  upon  those 
who  ordered  these  things ;  nay,  at  the  very  time  (this  is  a  most 
remarkable  judgment)  when  this  inhuman  judge  was  thunder- 
ing at  his  victims,  so  that  some  went  mad  and  even  dropped 
down  dead  with  fear,  he  was  himself,  as  Humphrey  hath  told 
me,  suffering  the  most  horrible  pain  from  a  dire  disease,  so  that 
the  terrors  of  his  voice  and  of  his  fiery  eyes  were  partly  due  to 
the  agony  of  his  disease,  and  he  was  enduring,  all  through  that 
assize,  in  his  own  body  pangs  greater  than  any  that  he  ordered. 
As  for  his  miserable  end  and  the  fate  that  overtook  his  master, 
that  we  know,  and  candid  souls  cannot  but  confess  that  here 


190  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

were  truly  judgments  of  God  visible  for  all  to  see  and  acknowl- 
edge. But  no  pen  can  truly  depict  what  the  eye  saw  and  the 
ear  heard  during  that  terrible  time.  And,  think  you,  if  it  was 
a  terrible  and  a  wretched  time  for  those  who  had  no  relations 
among-  the  rebels,  and  only  looked  on  and  saw  these  bloody  exe- 
cutions, and  heard  th.e  lamentations  of  the  poor  women  who  lost 
their  lovers  or  their  husbands,  what  must  it  have  been  for  me 
and  those  like  me,  whose  friends  and  all  whom  they  loved — yea, 
all — all  were  overwhelmed  in  one  common  ruin  and  expected 
nothing  but  death  ? 

Our  own  misery  I  cannot  truly  set  forth.  Sometimes  the 
memory  of  it  comes  back  to  me,  and  it  is  as  if  long  afterwards 
one  should  feel  again  the  sharpness  of  the  surgeon's  knife. 
Oh,  since  I  must  write  down  what  happened,  let  me  be  brief. 
And  you  who  read  it,  if  you  find  the  words  cold  where  you 
would  have  looked  for  fire — if  you  find  no  tears  where  there 
should  have  been  weeping  and  wailing — remember  that  in  the 
mere  writing  have  been  shed  again  (but  these  you  cannot  see) 
tears  which  belonged  to  that  time,  and  in  the  writing  have  been 
renewed,  but  these  you  cannot  hear,  the  sobbings  and  wailings 
and  terrors  of  that  dreadful  autumn. 

The  soldiers  belonged  to  a  company  of  grenadiers  of  Tre- 
lawny's  Regiment,  stationed  at  Ilminster,  whither  they  carried 
the  prisoners.  First  they  handcuffed  Barnaby,  but  on  his  giving 
his  parole  not  to  escape  they  let  him  go  free,  and  he  proved  use- 
ful in  the  handling  of  the  cart  on  which  my  unhappy  father  lay. 
And  though  the  soldiers'  talk  was  ribald,  their  jests  unseemly, 
and  their  cursing  and  swearing  seemed  verily  to  invite  the  wrath 
of  God,  yet  they  proved  honest  fellows  in  the  main.  They  of- 
fered no  rudeness  to  us,  nor  did  they  object  to  our  going  with 
the  prisoners ;  nay,  they  even  gave  us  bread  and  meat  and  cider 
from  their  own  provisions  when  they  halted  for  dinner  at  noon. 
Barnaby  walked  sometimes  with  the  soldiers  and  sometimes  with 
us ;  with  them  he  talked  freely,  and  as  if  he  were  their  comrade 
and  not  their  prisoner ;  for  us  he  put  in  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment or  consolation,  such  as,  "  Mother,  we  shall  find  a  way  out  of 
this  coil  yet,"  or  "  Sister,  we  shall  cheat  Tom  Hangman.  Look 
not  so  gloomy  upon  it ;"  or,  again,  he  reminded  us  that  many  a 
shipwrecked  sailor  gets  safe  ashore,  and  that  where  there  are  so 
many  they  cannot  hang  all — would  the  king,  he  asked,  hang  up 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  191 

the  whole  county  of  Somerset  ?  But  he  had  already  told  me 
too  much.  In  his  heart  I  knew  he  had  small  hope  of  escape. 
Yet  he  preserved  his  cheerfulness  and  walked  towards  his  prison 
(to  outward  seeming)  as  insensible  of  fear  and  with  as  uncon- 
cerned a  countenance  as  if  he  were  going  to  a  banquet  or  a  wed- 
ding. This  cheerfulness  of  his  was  due  to  a  happy  confidence 
in  the  ordering  of  things,  rather  than  to  insensibility.  A  sailor 
sees  men  die  in  many  ways,  yet  himself  remains  alive.  This 
gives  him  something  of  the  disposition  of  the  Orientalist,  who 
accepts  his  fate  with  outward  unconcern  whatever  it  may  be. 
Perhaps  (I  know  not)  there  may  have  been  in  his  mind  that 
religious  assurance  of  which  he  told  me.  Did  Barnaby  at  this 
period,  when  death  was  very  near  unto  him,  really  believe  that 
there  was  one  religion  for  landsmen  and  another  for  sailors  ? 
one  way  to  heaven  for  ministers,  another  for  seamen  ?  Indeed, 
I  cannot  tell ;  yet  how  otherwise  account  for  his  courage  and 
cheerfulness  at  all  times,  even  in  the  very  presence  of  death  ? 

"  Brother,"  he  asked  the  sergeant,  "  we  have  been  lying  hid 
for  a  fortnight  and  have  heard  no  news.  Tell  me,  how  go  the 
hangings  ?" 

"  Why,  captain,"  the  fellow  replied,  with  a  grin,  "  in  this  re- 
spect there  is  little  for  the  rebels  to  complain  of.  They  ought 
to  be  satisfied,  so  far,  with  the  attentions  paid  to  them.  Lord 
Feversham  hanged  twenty  odd  to  begin  with.  Caj^tain  Adlaw 
and  three  others  are  trussed  up  in  chains  for  their  greater  honor  ; 
and,  in  order  to  put  the  rest  in  good  heart,  one  of  them  ran  a 
race  with  a  horse,  being  promised  his  life  if  he  should  win. 
When  he  had  beaten  the  horse,  his  lordship,  who  was  ever  a 
merry  man,  ordered  him  to  be  hanged  just  to  laugh  at  him. 
And  hanged  he  was." 

"  Ay,"  said  Barnaby,  "  thus  do  the  Indians  in  America  tort- 
ure their  prisoners  first  and  kill  them  afterwards." 

"  There  are  two  hundred  prisoners  lying  in  Weston  Zoyland 
church,"  the  sergeant  went  on ;  "  they  would  have  been  hanged 
too,  but  the  bishop  interfered.  Now  they  are  waiting  to  be 
tried.     Lord !  what  signifies  trial,  except  to  give  them  longer  s 


rope  i" 

"  Ay,  ay ;  and  how  go  things  in  Bridgwater  and  Taunton  ?" 
"  From  Weston  to  Bridgwater  there  is  a  line  of  gibbets  al- 
ready ;  in  Taunton  twenty,  I  believe,  have  swung — twenty,  at 


192  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

least.  The  drums  beat,  the  fifes  played,  and  the  trumpets 
sounded,  and  Colonel  Kirke  drank  to  the  health  of  every  man 
(such  was  his  condescension)  before  he  was  turned  off.  'Twould 
have  done  your  heart  good,  captain,  only  to  see  the  brave  show." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Barnaby  ;  "  very  like,  very  like.  Perhaps  I 
shall  have  the  opportunity  of  playing  first  part  in  another  brave 
show  if  all  goes  well.     Hath  the  duke  escaped  ?" 

"  We  heard  yesterday  that  he  is  taken  somewhere  near  the 
New  Forest.  So  that  he  will  before  long  lay  his  lovely  head 
upon  the  block.  Captain,  your  friends  have  brought  their  pigs 
to  a  pretty  market." 

"  They  have,  brother,  they  have,"  replied  Barnaby,  with  un- 
moved countenance.  "  Yet  many  a  man  hath  recovered  from 
worse  straits  than  these." 

I  listened  with  sinking  heart.  Much  I  longed  to  ask  if  the 
sergeant  knew  aught  of  Robin,  but  I  refrained  lest  merely  to 
name  him  might  put  the  soldiers  on  the  lookout  for  him,  should 
he  (happily)  be  in  hiding. 

Next  the  sergeant  told  us  (which  terrified  me  greatly)  that 
there  was  no  part  of  the-  country  where  they  were  not  scouring 
for  fugitives  ;  that  they  were  greatly  assisted  by  the  clergy,  who, 
he  said,  were  red-hot  for  King  James ;  that  the  men  were  found 
hiding  (as  we  had  hidden)  in  linneys,  in  hedges,  in  barns,  in 
woods ;  that  they  were  captured  by  treachery,  by  information 
laid,  and  even,  most  cruel  thing  of  all,  by  watching  and  follow- 
ing the  men's  sweethearts  who  were  found  taking  food  to  them, 
lie  said,  also,  that  at  the  present  rate  they  would  have  to  enlarge 
their  prisons  to  admit  ten  times  their  number,  for  they  were 
haling  into  them  not  only  the  men  who  had  followed  Monmouth, 
but  also  those  who  had  helped  him  with  money,  arms,  or  men. 
The  sergeant  was  a  brutal  fellow,  yet  there  was  about  him  some- 
thing of  good-nature,  and  even  of  compassion,  for  the  men  he 
had  captured.  Yet  he  seemed  to  take  delight  in  speaking  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  unfortunate  prisoners.  The  soldiers,  he 
told  us,  were  greatly  enraged  towards  the  rebels  ;  not,  I  sup- 
,  pose,  on  account  of  their  rebellion,  because  three  years  later 
they  themselves  showed  how  skin-deep  was  their  loyalty,  but 
because  the  rustics,  whom  they  thought  contemptible,  had  sur- 
prised and  nearly  beaten  them.  And  this  roused  in  them  the 
spirit  of  revenge. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  193 

"  Captain,"  said  tlie  sergeant,  "  'tis  pity  that  so  lusty  a  gen- 
tleman as  tliou  shouldst  die.  Hast  thou  no  friends  at  court  ? 
No  ?  Nor  any  who  would  speak  for  thee  ?  'Tis  pity.  Yet  a 
man  can  die  but  once.  With  such  a  neck  as  thine,  bespeak,  if 
so  much  grace  be  accorded  thee,  a  long  rope  and  a  high  gallows. 
'Tis  when  it  comes  to  the  quartering  " — he  stopped  and  shook 
his  head — "  but  there — I  wish  you  well  out  of  it,  captain," 

In  the  evening,  just  before  sunset,  we  arrived  at  Ilminster, 
after  a  sad  and  weary  march  of  ten  miles  at  least — but  we  could 
not  leave  the  prisoners  until  we  knew  how  and  where  they  were 
bestowed ;  and  during  all  this  time  my  mother,  who  commonly 
walked  not  abroad  from  one  Sabbath  to  the  next,  was  possessed 
with  such  a  spirit  that  she  seemed  to  feel  no  weariness.  When 
we  rode  all  night  in  order  to  join  the  duke  she  complained  not ; 
when  we  rode  painfully  across  the  country  to  Taunton  she  mur- 
mured not,  nor  when  we  carried  our  wounded  man  up  the  rough 
and  steep  comb ;  no,  nor  on  this  day  when  she  walked  beside 
her  husband's  head,  careful  lest  the  motion  of  the  cart  should 
cause  him  pain.  But  he  felt  nothing,  poor  soul !  He  would 
feel  nothing  any  more. 

Ilminster  is  a  goodly  town,  rich  and  prosperous  with  its  spin- 
ners and  weavers ;  this  evening,  however,  there  was  no  one  in 
the  streets  except  the  troopers,  who  swaggered  up  and  down  or 
sat  drinking  at  the  tavern  door.  There  is  a  broad,  open  place 
before  the  market,  which  stands  upon  great  stone  pillars.  Out- 
side the  market  is  the  clink,  or  prison,  whither  the  soldiers  were 
taking  their  prisoners.  The  troopers  paid  not  the  least  heed  to 
our  mournful  little  procession :  a  wounded  man ;  a  prisoner  in 
scarlet  and  lace,  but  the  cloth  tattered  and  stained  and  the  lace 
torn ;  there  were  only  two  more  men  on  their  way  to  death — 
what  doth  a  soldier  care  for  the  sight  of  a  man  about  to  die  ! 

"  Mother,"  said  Barnaby,  when  we  drew  near  the  prison  doors, 
"  come  not  within  the  prison.  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  for  him. 
Go  now  and  find  a  decent  lodging;  and,  sister,  mark  ye,  the 
lads  in  our  army  were  rough,  but  they  were  as  lambs  compared 
with  these  swaggering  troopers.  Keep  snug,  therefore,  and 
venture  not  far  abroad." 

I  whispered  in  his  ear  that  I  had  his  bag  of  money  safe,  so 
that  he  could  have  whatever  he  wanted  if  that  could  be  bought. 
Then  the  prison  doors  were  closed  and  we  stood  without. 
9  N 


194  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

It  would  have  been  hard,  indeed,  for  the  wife  and  daughter 
of  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin  not  to  find  a  lodging  among  godly  people, 
of  whom  there  are  always  many  in  every  town  of  Somerset. 
We  presently  obtained  a  room  in  the  house  of  one  Martha  Prior, 
widow  of  the  learned  and  pious  Joshua  Prior,  whilom  preacher 
and  ejected  minister.  Her  case  was  as  hard  as  our  own.  This 
poor  woman  had  two  sons  only,  and  both  had  gone  to  join  the 
duke ;  one  already  risen  to  be  a  serge-maker  and  one  a  draper 
of  the  town.  Of  her  sons  she  could  hear  no  news  at  all,  wheth- 
er they  were  alive  or  dead ;  if  they  were  already  dead,  or  if 
they  should  be  hanged,  she  would  have  no  means  of  support, 
and  so  must  starve  or  eat  the  bread  of  charity.  (I  heard  after- 
wards that  she  never  did  hear  anything  of  them,  so  it  is  certain 
that  they  must  have  been  killed  on  the  battle-field  or  cut  down 
by  the  dragoons  in  trying  to  escape.  But  the  poor  soul  sur- 
vived not  long  their  loss.) 

The  church  of  Ilminster  stands  upon  a  rising  ground :  on  the 
north  is  the  grammar-school,  and  on  the  other  three  sides  are 
houses  of  the  better  sort,  of  which  Mrs.  Prior  had  one.  The 
place,  which  surrounds  the  churchyard  and  hath  no  inn  or  ale- 
house in  it,  is  quiet  and  retired.  The  soldiers  came  not  thither, 
except  once  or  twice  with  orders  to  search  the  houses  (and  with 
a  private  resolution  to  drink  everything  that  they  might  lay 
hands  upon),  so  that,  for  two  poor  women  in  our  miserable  cir- 
cumstances, we  could  not  have  a  more  quiet  lodging. 

Despite  our  troubles,  I  slept  so  well  that  night  that  it  was 
past  seven  in  the  morning  when  I  awoke.  The  needs  of  the 
body  do  sometimes  overcome  the  cares  of  the  spirit.  For  a 
whole  fortnight  had  we  been  making  our  beds  on  the  heather, 
and  therefore  without  taking  off  our  clothes,  and  that  day  Ave 
had  walked  ten  miles  at  least  with  the  soldiers,  so  that  I  slept 
without  moving  or  waking  all  the  night.  In  the  morning  I 
dressed  quickly  and  hurried  to  the  jail,  not  knowing  whether  I 
might  be  admitted,  or  should  be  allowed  speech  of  Barnaby. 
Outside  the  gate,  however,  I  found  a  crowd  of  people  going  into 
the  prison  and  coming  out  of  it.  Some  of  the  women  like  our- 
selves were  weeping — they  were  those  whose  brothers  or  lovers, 
husbands  or  sons,  were  in  those  gloomy  walls.  Others  there 
were  who  brought  for  such  of  the  prisoners  as  had  money  to 
buy  them,  eggs,  butter,  white  bread,  chickens,  fruit,  and  all 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  195 

kinds  of  provisions ;  some  brought  wine,  cider,  and  ale ;  some, 
tobacco.  The  warders  who  stood  at  the  gates  made  no  opposi- 
tion to  those  who  would  enter.  I  pressed  in  with  a  beating 
heart,  prepared  for  a  scene  of  the  most  dreadful  repentance  and 
gloomy  forebodings.     What  I  saw  was  quite  otherwise. 

The  gates  of  the  prison  opened  upon  a  courtyard,  not  very 
big,  Avhere  the  people  were  selling  their  wares,  and  some  of  the 
prisoners  were  walking  about,  and  some  were*  chaffering  with 
the  women  Avho  had  the  baskets.  On  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  yard  was  the  clink,  or  prison,  itself ;  on  the  left  hand  were 
houses  for  the  warders  or  officers  of  the  prison.  In  general  a 
single  warder,  constable,  or  headborough  is  enough,  for  a  town 
such  as  Ilminster,  to  keep  the  peace  of  the  prison ;  which  is  for 
the  most  part  empty  save  when  they  enforce  some  new  act 
against  Nonconformists  and  fill  it  with  them  or  with  Quakers. 
Now,  however,  so  great  was  the  press  that,  instead  of  two,  there 
were  a  dozen  guards,  and,  instead  of  a  stout  cudgel,  they  went 
armed  with  pike  and  cutlass  to  keep  order  and  prevent  escapes. 
Six  of  them  occupied  the  gatehouse ;  other  six  were  within,  in 
a  sort  of  guard-house,  where  they  slept,  on  the  left  hand  of  the 
court. 

The  ground-floor  of  the  clink  we  found  to  be  a  large  room,  at 
least  forty  feet  each  side  in  bigness.  On  one  side  of  it  was  a 
great  fireplace,  where,  though  it  was  the  month  of  July,  there 
was  burning  a  great  fire  of  Welsh  coal,  partly  for  cooking  pur- 
poses, because  all  that  the  prisoners  ate  was  cooked  at  this  fire, 
and  partly  because  a  great  fire  kept  continually  burning  sweet- 
ens the  air  and  wards  off  jail  fever.  On  another  side  was  a  long 
table  and  several  benches.  Thick  wooden  pillars  supported  the 
joists  of  the  rooms  above  ;  the  Avindows  were  heavily  barred, 
but  the  shutters  were  down,  and  there  was  no  glass  in  them.  In 
spite  of  fire  and  open  windows  the  place  was  stifling,  and  smelt 
most  horrible.  Never  have  I  breathed  so  foul  an  air :  there  lived 
in  this  room  about  eighty  prisoners  (later  on  the  numbers  were 
doubled) ;  some  were  smoking  tobacco  and  drinking  cider  or 
ale  ;  some  were  frying  pieces  of  meat  over  the  fire  ;  and  the  to- 
bacco, the  ale,  the  wine,  the  cooking,  and  the  people  themselves 
— nearly  all  country  lads,  unwashed,  w^i^ehad  slept,  since  Sedge- 
moor  at  least,  in  the  same  clothes  without  once  changing  — 
made  such  an  air  that  jail  fever,  putrid  throats,  and  small-pox 


196  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

(whicli  afterwards  broke  out)  should  Lave  been  expected 
sooner. 

They  were  all  talking,  laughing,  and  even  singing,  so  that,  in 
addition  to  the  noisome  stench  of  the  place,  there  was  such  a 
din  as  one  may  hear  at  Sherborne  Fair  of  an  evening.  I  expected, 
as  I  have  said,  a  gloomy  silence,  with  the  rattling  of  chains,  the 
groans  of  those  who  looked  for  death,  and  perhaps  a  godly  re- 
pentance visible  upon  every  countenance.  Yet  they  were  all 
laughing,  except  a  few  who  sat  retired,  and  who  were  wounded. 
I  say  that  they  were  all  laughing.  They  had  nothing  to  expect 
but  death,  or  at  the  best  to  be  horribly  flogged,  to  be  transport- 
ed, to  be  fined,  branded,  and  ruined.  Yet  they  laughed.  What 
means  the  hardness  and  indifference  of  men  ?  Could  they  not 
think  of  the  women  they  had  left  at  home  ?  I  warrant  that 
none  of  them  were  laughing. 

Among  them,  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  his  lips  and  a  mug  of 
strong  ale  before  him  on  the  table,  his  hat  flung  backward,  sat 
Barnaby,  his  face  showing,  apparently,  complete  satisfaction 
with  his  lot. 

When  he  saw  us  at  the  door  he  rose  and  came  to  meet  us. 

*'  Welcome,"  he  said.  "  This  is  one  of  the  places  where  King 
Monmouth's  men  are  to  receive  the  honor  due  to  them.  Cour- 
age, gentle  hearts.  Be  not  cast  down.  Everywhere  the  prisons 
are  full,  and  more  are  brought  in  every  day.  Our  very  numbers 
are  our  safety.  They  cannot  hang  us  all.  And,  harkee,"  here 
he  whispered,  "  sister,  we  now  know  that  Colonel  Kirke  hath 
been  selling  pardons  at  ten  pounds,  twenty  pounds,  and  thirty 
pounds  apiece.  Wherefore  we  are  well  assured  that,  somehow 
or  other,  we  shall  be  able  to  buy  our  release.  There  are  plenty 
besides  Colonel  Kirke  who  will  sell  a  prisoner  his  freedom." 

"  Where  is  your  father  ?"  asked  my  mother. 

"  He  is  bestowed  above,  where  it  is  quieter,  except  for  the 
groaning  of  the  wounded.  Go  up-stairs  and  you  will  find  him. 
And  there  is  a  surprise  for  you  besides.  You  will  find  with  him 
one  you  little  expect  to  see." 

**  Oh,  Barnaby,  is  there  new  misery  for  me  ?  Is  Robin  a 
prisoner  ?" 

"  Kobin  is  not  here,  Sis ;  and  as  for  misery,  why,  that  is  as 
you  take  it.  To  be  sure  the  man  above  is  in  prison,  but  no  harm 
will  hai,^pen  to  him.     Why  should  it  ?     He  did  not  go  out  with 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  197 

Monmoutli's  men.     But  go  np-stairs,  go  iip-stairs  and  sec  for 
yourselves." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN     IL  MINSTER     JAIL. 


I  KNOW  not  whom  I  expected  to  find  in  consequence  of  Bar- 
naby's  Avords,  as  we  went  up  tlie  dark  and  dirty  stairs  wliicli  led 
to  the  upper  room.  Robin  was  not  a  prisoner,  why,  then — but 
I  know  not  wliat  I  thought,  all  being  strange  and  dreadful. 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  we  found  ourselves  in  a  room  of  the 
same  size  as  the  lower  chamber,  but  not  so  high,  and  darker,  be- 
ing a  gloomy  place  indeed,  insomuch  that  it  was  not  for  some 
minutes  that  one  could  plainly  discern  things.  It  was  lighted 
by  a  low,  long  window,  set  very  close  with  thick  bars,  the  shut- 
ters thrown  open  so  that  all  the  light  and  air  possible  to  be  ad- 
mitted might  come  in.  It  had  a  great  fireplace,  but  there  was 
no  fire  burning,  and  the  air  of  the  room  struck  raw,  though  out- 
side it  was  a  warm  and  sunny  day.  The  roof  was  supported,  as 
in  the  room  below,  by  means  of  thick  square  pillars,  studded 
with  great  nails,  set  close  together,  for  what  purpose  I  know  not. 
Every  part  of  the  woodwork  in  the  room  was  in  the  same  way 
stuck  full  of  nails.  On  the  floor  lay  half  a  score  of  mattresses, 
the  property  of  those  who  could  afford  to  pay  the  warders  an 
exorbitant  fee  for  the  luxury.  At  Ilminster,  as,  I  am  told,  at 
Newgate,  the  chief  prison  in  the  country,  the  same  custom  ob- 
tains of  exacting  heavy  fees  from  the  poor  wretches  clapped  into 
ward.  It  is,  I  suppose,  no  sin  to  rob  the  criminal,  the  debtor, 
the  traitor,  or  the  rebel.  For  those  who  had  nothing  to  pay 
there  were  only  a  few  bundles  of  straw.  And  on  these  were  ly- 
ing half  a  dozen  wretches  whose  white  faces  and  glazed  eyes 
showed  that  they  would  indeed  cheat  Tom  the  Hangman,  though 
not  in  the  way  that  Barnaby  hoped.  These  were  wounded 
either  in  Sedgemoor  fight  or  in  their  attempt  to  escape. 

My  father  lay  on-a  pallet  bed.  His  face  showed  not  the  least 
change.  His  eyes  were  closed,  and  you  would  have  thought  him 
dead.  And  beside  him,  also  on  a  pallet,  sat,  to  my  astonishment, 
none  other  than  Sir  Christopher  himself. 


198  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

He  rose  and  came  to  meet  us,  smiling  sadly. 

"  Madam,"  lie  said,  taking  my  mother's  hand,  "  we  meet  in  a 
doleful  place,  and  we  ai'e  indeed  in  wretched  i:)light.  I  cannot 
bid  you  welcome  ;  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  There 
is  nothing  that  I  can  say  of  comfort  or  of  hope,  except,  which 
you  know  already,  that  we  are  always  in  the  hands  of  the 
Lord." 

"  Sir  Christopher,"  said  my  mother,  "  it  was  kind  and  neigh- 
borly in  you  to  come.  But  you  were  always  his  best  friend. 
Look  at  his  poor,  white  face" — she  only  thought  upon  her  hus- 
band. "  You  would  think  him  dead.  More  than  a  fortnight  he 
hath  lain  thus — motionless.  I  think  he  feels  no  pain.  Husband, 
if  thou  canst  hear  me,  make  some  sign,  if  it  be  but  to  shut  one 
eye.  No,"  she  cried.  "  Day  after  day  have  I  thus  entreated 
him  and  he  makes  no  answer.  He  neither  sees  nor  hears.  Yet 
he  doth  not  die,  wherefore  I  think  that  he  may  yet  recover  speech 
and  sit  up  again,  and  presently,  perhaps,  walk  about  and  address 
himself  again  unto  his  studies." 

She  waited  not  for  any  answer,  but  knelt  down  beside  him  and 
poured  some  drops  of  milk  into  the  mouth  of  the  sick  man.  Sir 
Christopher  looked  at  her  mournfully  and  shook  his  head. 

Then  he  turned  to  me  and  kissed  me  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Oh,  sir !"  I  cried,  "  how  could  you  know  that  my  father 
would  be  brought  into  this  place  ?  With  what  goodness  of  heart 
have  you  come  to  our  help." 

"  Nay,  child,"  he  replied,  gravely.  "  I  came  because  I  had  no 
choice  but  to  come.  Like  your  father  and  your  brother,  Grace, 
I  am  a  prisoner." 

"  You,  sir  ?  You  a  prisoner  ?  Why,  you  were  not  with  the 
duke." 

"  That  is  most  true,  and  yet  a  prisoner.  Why,  after  the  news 
of  Sedgemoor  fight  I  looked  for  nothing  else.  They  tried  to  ar- 
rest Mr.  Speke,  but  he  has  fled ;  they  have  locked  up  Mr.  Prideaux 
of  Ford  Abbey ;  Mr.  Trenchard  has  retired  across  the  seas.  AVhy 
should  they  pass  me  over  ?  Nay,  there  were  abundant  proofs  of 
my  zeal  for  the  duke.  My  grandson  and  my  grandnephew  had 
joined  the  rebels.  Your  father  and  brother  rode  over  to  Lyme 
on  my  horses ;  with  my  grandson  rode  off  a  dozen  lads  of  the 
village.  What  more  could  they  want  ?  Moreover,  I  am  an  old 
soldier  of  Lord  Essex's  army ;  and,  to  finish,  they  found  in  the 


"  She  waited  not  for  any  answer,  hut  knelt  down,  beside  liim,  and 'poured  soma 
drops  of  milk  into  the  mouth  of  the  sick  man." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  199 

window-scat  a  copy  of  Monmouth's  declaration,  which,  indeed,  I 
had  forgotten,  or  I  might  have  destroyed  it." 

"  Alas !  alas !"  I  cried,  wringing  my  hands  with  tears. 
"  Your  honor,  too,  a  prisoner  1" 

Since  the  sergeant  spoke  to  Barnaby  about  the  interest  of 
friends,  I  had  been  thinking  that  Sir  Christopher,  whose  power 
and  interest,  I  fondly  thought,  must  be  equal  to  those  of  any 
lord  in  the  land,  would  interpose  to  save  us  all.  And  he  was 
now  a  prisoner  himself,  involved  in  the  common  ruin.  One  who 
stands  upon  a  bridge  and  sees  with  terror  the  last  support  car- 
ried away  by  the  raging  flood,  feels  such  despair  as  fell  upon  my 
soul. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  cried  again.  "  It  is  line  upon  line — woe  upon 
woe." 

He  took  my  hand  in  his  and  held  it  tenderly. 

"My  child,"  he  said,  "to  an  old  man  of  seventy-five  what 
doth  it  matter  whether  he  die  in  his  bed  or  whether  he  die  upon 
a  scaffold  ?  Through  the  pains  of  death,  as  through  a  gate,  we 
enter  upon  our  rest." 

"  It  is  dreadful !"  I  cried  again.     "  I  cannot  endure  it." 

"  The  shame  and  ignominy  of  this  death,"  he  said,  "  I  shall,  I 
trust,  regard  lightly.  We  have  struck  a  blow  for  freedom  and 
for  faith.  Well,  we  have  been  suffered  to  fail.  The  time  hath 
not  yet  come.  Yet,  in  the  end,  others  shall  carry  on  the  cause, 
and  religion  shall  prevail.  Shall  we  murmur,  who  have  been 
God's  instruments  ?" 

"  Alas  !  alas  !"  I  cried  again. 

"  To  me,  sweet  child,  it  is  not  terrible  to  contemplate  my  end. 
But  it  is  sad  to  think  of  thee,  and  of  thy  grave  and  bitter  loss. 
Hast  thou  heard  news  of  Robin  and  of  Humphrey  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  are  they  also  in  prison  ?     They  are  here  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  have  news  of  them.  I  have  a  letter  brought  to 
me  but  yesterday.     Read  it,  my  child,  read  it." 

He  pulled  the  letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  gave  it  to  me. 
Then  I  read  aloud,  and  thus  it  ran : 

"  HoNOUED  Sir  and  Grandfather,  —  I  am  writing  this  letter  from  the 
piison  of  Exeter,  where,  with  Humphrey  and  about  two  hundred  or  more 
of  our  poor  fellows,  I  am  laid  by  the  heels  and  shall  so  continue  until  we 
shall  all  be  tried. 

"  It  is  rumored  that  Lord  Jeffreys  will  come  down  to  try  us,  and  we  are  as- 


200  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

sureJ  by  rumor  that  the  king  sho^vs  lumself  revengeful  and  is  determined 
that  there  shall  be  no  mercy  shown.  After  Scdgemoor  fight  they  hanged,  as 
you  will  have  heard,  many  of  the  prisoners  at  AVeston  Zoyland,  at  Bridgwater, 
and  at  Taunton,  without  trial.  If  the  king  continue  in  this  disposition  it  is 
very  certain  that,  though  the  common  sort  may  be  foigiven,  the  gentlemen 
and  those  who  were  officers  in  the  rebel  army  will  certainly  not  escape. 
Therefore,  I  have  no  hopes  but  to  conclude  my  life  upon  the  gallows,  a  thing 
which,  I  confess,  I  had  never  looked  to  do.  I  hope  to  meet  my  fate  with 
courage  and  resignation. 

"Humphrey  is  with  me ;  and  it  is  some  comfort  (though  I  know  not  why) 
that  we  shall  stand  or  fall  together;  for  if  I  was  a  captain  in  the  army,  he 
■was  a  chirurgeon.  That  he  was  also  a  secret  agent  of  the  exiles,  and  that  he 
stirred  up  the  duke's  friends  on  his  way  from  London  to  Sherborne,  that 
they  know  not,  or  it  would  certainly  go  hard  with  him.  What  do  I  say? 
Since  they  will  hang  him,  things  cannot  very  well  go  harder. 

"  When  the  fight  was  over  and  the  duke  and  Lord  Grey  fled,  there  was 
nothing  left  but  to  escape  as  best  we  might.  I  hope  that  some  of  our  Brad- 
ford lads  will  make  their  way  home  in  safety ;  they  stood  their  ground  and 
fought  valiantly.  Nay,  if  we  had  been  able  to  arm  all  who  volunteered  and 
would  have  enlisted,  and  if  our  men  had  all  shown  such  a  spirit  as  your 
valiant  lads  of  Bradford  Orcas,  then,  I  say,  the  enemy  must  have  been  cut  to 
pieces. 

"When  I  had  no  choice  left  but  to  run  I  took  the  road  to  Bridgwater,  intend- 
ing to  ride  back  to  that  place  Avhere,  perhaps,  our  forces  might  be  rallied. 
But  this  proved  hopeless.  There  I  found,  however,  Humphrey,  and  we  re- 
solved that  the  safest  plan  would  be  to  ride  by  way  of  Taunton,  leaving  be- 
hind us  the  great  body  of  the  king's  army,  and  so  escape  to  London,  if  pos- 
sible, where  we  should  certainly  find  hiding-places  in  plenty  until  the  pur- 
suit should  be  at  an  end.  Our  plan  was  to  travel  along  byways  and  bridle- 
paths, and  that  by  night  only,  hiding  by  day  in  barns,  linneys,  and  the 
like.  We  had  money  for  the  charges  of  our  journey.  Humphrey  would 
travel  as  a  physician  returning  to  London  from  Bath,  as  soon  as  we  had  got- 
ten out  of  the  insurgent's  country.  I  was  to  be  his  servant.  Thus  we  ar- 
ranged the  matter  in  our  minds,  and  already  I  thongiit  that  we  were  safe  and 
in  hiding  somewhere  in  London,  or  across  the  seas  in  the  Low  Countries 
again. 

"  Well,  to  make  short  my  story,  we  got  no  farther  than  Exeter,  where  we 
were  betrayed  by  a  rascal  countryman  who  recognized  us,  caused  us  to  be  ar- 
rested, and  swore  to  us.  Thereupon  we  were  clapped  into  jail,  where  we 
now  lie. 

"  Hon'd  sir,  Humphrey,  I  am  sorry  to  write,  is  much  cast  down,  not  be- 
cause he  dreads  death,  which  he  doth  not,  any  more  than  to  lie  upon  his  bed ; 
but  because  he  hath,  he  says,  drawn  so  many  to  their  ruin.  He  numbers  me 
among  those,  though,  indeed,  it  was  none  of  his  doing,  but  of  my  own  free 
will,  that  I  entered  upon  this  business,  which,  contrary  to  reasonable  expecta- 
tion, hath  turned  out  so  ill.  Wherefore,  dear  sir,  since  there  is  no  one  in  the 
world  whose  opinion  and  counsel  Humphrey  so  greatly  considers  as  your  own, 
I  pray  you,  of  your  goodness,  send  him  some  words  of  consolation  and  cheer." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  201 

"  That  will  I,  right  readily,"  said  Sir  Christopher.  "  At  least 
the  poor  lad  cannot  accuse  himself  of  dragging  me  into  the 
clink." 

"I  hear"  [continued  Robin's  letter]  "  that  my  mother  hath  gone  with  Mr. 
Boscorel  to  London  to  learn  if  aught  can  be  done  for  us.  If  she  do  not  re- 
turn before  we  are  finished,  bid  her  think  kindly  of  Humphrey,  and  not  to  lay 
these  things  to  his  charge.  As  for  my  dear  girl,  my  Grace,  I  hear  nothing  of 
her.  Miss  Blake,  who  led  the  maids  when  they  gave  the  flags  to  the  duke, 
is,  I  hear,  clapped  into  prison.  Grace  is  not  spoken  of.  I  am  greatly  per- 
turbed in  spirit  concerning  her,  and  I  would  gladly,  if  that  might  be  compassed, 
have  speech  with  her  before  I  die.  I  fear  she  will  grieve  and  weep,  but  not 
more  than  I  myself  at  leaving  her,  poor  maid  !  I  hear,  also,  nothing  concern- 
ing her  father,  who  was  red-hot  for  the  cause,  and  therefore,  I  fear,  will  not 
be  passed  over  or  forgotten ;  nor  do  I  hear  aught  of  Barnaby,  who  I  hope 
hath  escaped  on  shipboard,  as  he  said  that  he  should  do  if  things  went  ajar. 
Where  are  they  all !  The  roads  are  covered  with  rough  men,  and  it  is  not 
fit  for  such  as  Grace  and  her  mother  to  be  travelling.  I  hope  that  they  have 
returned  in  safety  to  Bradford  Orcas,  and  that  my  old  master.  Dr.  Eykin, 
hath  forgotten  his  zeal  for  the  Protestant  duke  and  is  already  seated  ag;un 
among  his  books.  If  that  is  so,  tell  Grace,  honored  sir,  that  there  is  no  hour 
of  the  day  or  night  but  I  think  of  her  continually ;  that  the  chief  pang  of  my 
approaching  fate  is  the  thought  that  I  shall  leave  her  in  sorrow,  and  that 
I  cannot  say  or  do  anything  to  stay  her  sorrow.  Comfort  her  I  cannot,  save 
with  words  which  will  come  better  from  the  saintly  lips  of  her  father. 
I  again  pray  thee  to  assure  her  of  my  faithful  love.  Tell  her  that  the 
recollection  of  her  sweet  face  and  steadfast  eyes  fills  me  with  so  great 
a  longing  that  I  would  fain  die  at  once  so  as  to  bring  nearer  the  moment 
when  we  shall  be  able  to  sit  together  in  heaven.  My  life  hath  been  sancti- 
fied, if  I  may  say  so  in  humility,  by  her  presence  in  my  heart,  which  drove 
away  all  common  and  unclean  things.  Of  such  strength  is  earthly  love.  Nay, 
I  could  not,  I  now  perceive,  be  happy  even  with  the  joys  of  heaven  if  she  were 
not  by  my  side.  Where  is  she,  my  heart,  my  love?  Pray  God  she  is  in 
safety. 

"And  now,  sir,  I  have  no  more  to  say.  The  prison  is  a  hot  and  reeking 
place;  at  night  it  is  hard  to  bear  the  foulness  and  the  stench  of  it.  Humph- 
rey says  that  we  may  shortly  expect  some  jail  fever  or  small-pox  to  break 
out  among  us,  in  which  case  the  work  of  the  judges  may  be  lightened.  The 
good  people  of  this  ancient  city  arc  in  no  way  afraid  of  the  king's  vindictive- 
ness,  but  send  in  of  their  bounty  quantity  of  provisions — fruit,  eggs,  fresh 
meat,  salted  meat,  ale  and  cider — every  day  for  the  poor  prisoners,  which 
shows  which  way  their  opinions  do  lean  even  although  the  clergy  are  against 
us.  Honored  sir,  I  am  sure  and  certain  that  the  miscarriage  of  our  enter- 
prise was  caused  by  the  conduct  of  those  who  had  us  in  hand.  In  a  year  or 
two  there  shall  be  seen  (but  not  by  us)  another  uprising,  under  another 
leader,  with  another  end. 

"So  no  more.  I  send  to  thee,  dear  and  honored  sir,  my  bounden  duty  and 
9* 


202  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

my  grateful  thanks,  for  all  that  I  owe  to  your  tender  care  and  affection. 
Pray  my  mother,  for  me,  to  mourn  no  more  for  me  than  is  becoming  to  one 
of  her  purity  and  virtue. 

"  Alas  !  it  is  in  thinking  upon  her,  and  upon  my  poor  lost  dear,  that  my 
heart  is  well-nigh  torn  in  pieces.  But  (tell  Humphrey)  through  no  fault — 
no — through  no  fault  of  his. 

"  From  thy  dutiful  and  obedient  grandson,  R.  C." 

I  read  this  all  tlirougli.  Then  I  folded  up  the  letter  and  re- 
turned it  to  Sir  Christopher.  As  he  took  it  the  tears  came  into 
his  dear  and  venerable  eyes  and  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  it  is  hard  to  bear.  Every 
one  who  is  dear  to  thee  will  go  ;  there  is  an  end  of  all ;  unless 
some  way,  of  which  we  know  nothing,  be  opened  unto  us." 

"  Why,"  I  said,  "  if  we  were  all  dead  and  buried  and  our 
souls  together  in  heaven — " 

"  Patience,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  man, 

"  Oh,  must  they  all  die — all  ?  My  heart  will  burst.  Oh,  sir, 
will  not  one  suffice  for  all  ?  Will  they  not  take  me  and  hang 
me,  and  let  the  rest  go  free  ?" 

"  Child,"  he  took  my  hand  between  his  own,  "  God  knows  that 
if  one  life  would  suffice  for  all,  it  should  be  mine.  Nay,  I  would 
willingly  die  ten  times  over  to  save  thy  Robin  for  thee.  He  is 
not  dead  yet,  however.  Nor  is  he  sentenced.  There  are  so 
many  involved  that  we  may  hope  for  a  large  measure  of  mercy. 
Nay,  more.  His  mother  hath  gone  to  London,  as  he  says  in 
his  letter,  with  my  son-in-laAV,  Philip  Boscorel,  to  see  if  aught 
can  be  done,  even  to  the  selling  of  my  whole  estate,  to  procure 
the  enlargement  of  the  boys.  I  know  not  if  anything  can  be 
done,  but  be  assured  that  Philip  Boscorel  will  leave  no  stone 
unturned." 

"  Oh,  can  money  buy  a  pardon  ?  I  have  two  hundred  gold 
pieces.     They  are  Barnaby's — " 

"  Then,  my  dear,  they  must  be  used  to  buy  pardon  for  Bar- 
naby  and  thy  father  ;  though  I  doubt  whether  any  pardon  need 
be  bought  for  one  who  is  brought  so  low." 

Beside  the  bed  my  mother  sat  crouched,  watching  his  white 
face  as  she  had  done  all  day  long  in  our  hiding-place.  I  think 
she  heeded  nothing  that  went  on  around  her,  being  wrapped  in 
her  hopes  and  prayers  for  the  wounded  man. 

Then  Sir  Christopher  kissed  me  gently  on  the  forehead. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  203 

"  Tlicy  say  tbc  king  is  unforgiving,  my  dear.  Expect  not, 
therefore,  anything.  Say  to  thyself,  every  morning,  that  all 
must  die.  To  know  the  worst  brings  with  it  something  of  con- 
solation. Eobin  must  die  ;  Humphrey  must  die  ;  your  brother 
Barnaby  must  die  ;  your  father,  but  he  is  well-nigh  dead  al- 
ready, and  myself — all  must  die  upon  the  scaffold,  if  we  escape 
this  noisome  jail.  In  thinking  this,  remember  who  will  be  left. 
My  dear,  if  thou  art  as  a  widow,  and  yet  a  maiden,  I  charge 
thee  that  thou  forget  thine  own  private  griefs,  and  minister  to 
those  who  will  have  none  but  thee  to  help  them.  Live  not  for 
thyself,  but  to  console  and  solace  those  who,  like  thyself  be- 
reaved, will  need  thy  tender  cares." 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

BEFORE     THE     ASSIZE. 


Then  we  sat  down  and  waited.  Day  after  day  we  went  to 
the  prison  where  my  mother  sat  by  my  father,  whose  condition 
never  changed  in  the  least,  being  always  that  of  one  who  slept, 
or,  if  his  eyes  were  open,  was  unconscious,  and,  though  he  might 
utter  a  few  words,  had  no  command  of  his  mind  or  of  his  speech. 
Wlierefore  we  hoped  that  he  suffered  nothing.  'Twas  a  musket- 
ball  had  struck,  the  surgeon  said,  in  his  backbone  between  the 
shoulders,  whereby  his  powers  of  motion  and  of  thought  were 
suspended.  I  know  not  whether  it  was  attempted  to  remove 
the  ball,  or  whether  it  was  lodged  there  at  all,  because  I  am  ig- 
norant, and  to  me,  whether  he  had  been  struck  in  the  back  or 
no,  it  was  to  my  mind  certain  that  the  Lord  had  granted  my 
father's  earnest  prayer  that  he  should  again  be  permitted  to 
deliver  openly  the  message  that  was  upon  his  soul ;  nay,  had 
given  him  three  weeks  of  continual  and  faithful  preaching,  the 
fruits  of  which,  could  we  perceive  them,  should  be  abundant. 
That  prayer  granted,  the  Lord,  I  thought,  was  calling  him  to 
rest.     Therefore  I  looked  for  no  improvement. 

One  other  letter  came  from  Exeter,  with  one  for  me,  with 
which  (because  I  could  not  leave  my  mother  at  such  a  time) 
I  was  forced  to  stay  my  soul,  as  the  lover  in  the  canticle  stays 
his  soul  with  apples,     I  have  that  letter  still ;  it  hath  been  with 


204  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

me  always  ;  it  lay  hung  from  my  neck  in  tlie  little  Icatliern  bag 
in  which  I  carried  the  duke's  ring,  I  read  it  again  and  again 
until  I  knew  it  by  heart ;  yet  still  I  read  it  again,  because  even 
to  look  at  my  lover's  writing  had  in  it  something  of  comfort 
even  when  things  were  at  their  worst  and  Egyptian  darkness 
lay  upon  my  soul.  But  the  letter  I  cannot  endure  to  copy  out, 
or  suffer  others  to  read  it,  because  it  was  written  for  mine  own 
eye,  and  none  other's.  "  Oh,  my  love  !"  he  said  ;  "  oh,  my  ten- 
der heart,"  and  then  a  hundred  prayers  for  my  happiness,  and 
tears  for  my  tears,  and  hopes  for  the  future,  which  would  be 
not  the  earthly  life,  but  the  future  reserved  by  merciful  Heaven 
for  those  who  have  been  called  and  chosen.  As  for  the  sharp 
and  painful  passage  by  which  we  must  travel  from  this  world 
to  the  next,  Robin  bade  me  take  no  thought  of  that,  but  to  think 
of  him  either  as  my  lover  walking  with  me  beside  the  stream, 
or  as  a  spirit  waiting  for  me  to  join  him  in  the  heavenly  choir. 
And  so  with  so  many  farewells  (the  letter  being  written  when 
they  expected  the  judges  to  arrive  and  the  assize  to  begin)  as 
showed  his  tender  love  for  me.  No,  I  cannot  write  down  this 
letter  for  the  eyes  of  all  to  read.  There  are  things  which  must 
be  kept  hidden  in  our  own  hearts  ;  and,  without  doubt,  every 
woman  to  whom  good-fortune  hath  given  a  lover  like  Robin,  with 
a  heart  as  fond  and  a  pen  as  ready  (though  he  could  never,  like 
Humphrey,  write  sweet  verses),  hath  received  an  epistle  or  two 
like  unto  mine  for  the  love  and  tenderness,  but  (I  hope)  without 
the  sadness  of  impending  death. 

It  was  four  weeks  after  we  were  brought  to  Ilminster  that  the 
news  came  to  us  of  the  coming  trials.  There  were  five  judges, 
but  the  world  knows  but  of  one,  namely,  George,  Lord  Jeffreys, 
Chief-Justice  of  England  ;  and  now,  indeed,  we  began  to  under- 
stand the  true  misery  of  our  situation.  For  every  one  knew 
the  character  of  the  judge,  who,  though  a  young  man  still,  was 
already  the  terror  alike  of  prisoners,  witnesses,  and  juries.  It 
promised  to  be  a  black  and  bloody  assize  indeed,  since  this  man 
was  to  be  the  judge. 

The  aspect  of  the  prison  by  this  time  was  changed.  The 
songs  and  merriment,  the  horseplay  and  loud  laughter,  by  which 
the  men  had  at  first  endeavored  to  keep  up  their  hearts,  were 
gone.  The  country  lads  pined  and  languished  in  confinement ; 
their  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  their  eyes  heavy.     Then  the  prison 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  205 

was  so  crowded  that  there  was  barely  room  for  all  to  lie  at  night, 
and  the  yard  was  too  small  for  all  to  walk  therein  by  day.  In 
the  morning,  though  they  opened  all  the  shutters,  the  air  was 
so  foul  that  in  going  into  it  from  the  open,  one  felt  sick  and 
giddy,  and  was  sometimes  fain  to  run  out  and  drink  cold  water. 
Oh,  the  terrible  place  for  an  old  man  such  as  Sir  Christopher ! 
Yet  he  endured,  without  murmuring,  the  foulness  and  the  hard- 
ness, comforting  the  sick,  still  reproving  blasphemies,  and  set- 
ting an  example  of  cheerfulness.  The  wounded  men  all  died, 
I  believe  ;  which,  as  the  event  proved,  was  lucky  for  them.  It 
would  have  saved  the  rest  much  suffering  had  they  all  died  as 
well.  And  to  think  that  this  was  only  one  of  many  prisons 
thus  crowded  with  poor  captives !  At  Wells,  Philip's  Norton, 
Shepton  Mallet,  Bath,  Bridgwater,  Taunton,  Ilchester,  Somer- 
ton,  Langport,  Bristol,  and  Exeter,  there  was  a  like  assemblage 
of  poor  wretches  thus  waiting  their  trials. 

I  said  that  there  was  now  little  singing.  There  was,  however, 
drinking  enough,  and  more  than  enough.  They  drank  to  drown 
their  sorroAvs  and  to  forget  the  horrid  place  in  which  they  lay, 
and  the  future  which  awaited  them.  When  they  were  drunk 
they  would  bellow  some  of  their  old  songs,  but  the  bawling  of 
a  drunkard  will  not  communicate  to  his  companions  the  same 
joy  as  the  music  of  a  merry  heart. 

While  we  were  expecting  to  hear  that  the  judge  had  arrived 
at  Salisbury  the  fever  broke  out  in  the  prison  of  Ilminster.  At 
Wells  they  were  afflicted  with  the  small-pox,  but  at  Ilminster  it 
was  jail  fever  which  fell  upon  the  poor  prisoners.  Everybody 
hath  heard  of  this  terrible  disorder,  which  is  communicated  by 
those  who  have  it  to  those  who  go  among  them,  namely,  to  the 
warders  and  turnkeys,  and  even  to  the  judges  and  the  juries. 
On  the  first  day  after  it  broke  out,  which  v/as  with  an  extraor- 
dinary virulence,  four  poor  men  died  and  were  buried  the  next 
morning.  After  this  no  day  passed  but  there  were  funerals  at 
the  churchyard,  and  the  mounds  of  their  graves — the  graves  of 
these  poor  countrymen  who  thought  to  fight  the  battles  of  the 
Lord — stood  side  by  side  in  a  long  row  growing  continually 
longer.  We — that  is,  good  Mrs.  Prior  and  myself — sat  at  the 
window  and  watched  the  funerals,  praying  for  the  safety  of 
those  we  loved. 

So  great  was  the  fear  of  infection  in  the  town  that  no  one 


206  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

was  licnccforth  allowed  within  the  prison,  nor  were  the  Avarders 
allowed  to  come  out  of  it.  This  was  a  sad  order  for  me,  because 
my  mother  chose  to  remain  within  the  prison,  finding  a  garret 
at  the  house  of  the  chief  constable,  and  I  could  no  longer  visit 
that  good  old  man  Sir  Christopher,  whose  only  pleasure  left  had 
been  to  converse  with  me  daily,  and,  as  I  now  understand,  by 
the  refreshment  the  society  of  youth  brings  to  age,  to  lighten 
the  tedium  of  his  imprisonment. 

Henceforth,  therefore,  I  went  to  the  prison  door  every  morn- 
ing and  sent  in  my  basket  of  provisions,  but  was  not  suffered  to 
enter,  and  though  I  could  have  speech  with  my  mother  or  with 
Barnaby,  they  were  on  one  side  the  bars  and  I  on  the  other. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr,  George 
Penne.  This  creature  (a  villain,  as  I  afterwards  discovered,  of 
the  deepest  dye)  was  to  external  appearance  a  grave  and  sober 
merchant.  He  was  dressed  in  brown  cloth  and  carried  a  gold- 
headed  stick  in  his  hand.  He  came  to  Ilminster  about  the  end 
of  August  or  the  beginning  of  September,  and  began  to  inquire 
particularly  into  the  names  and  the  circumstances  of  the  prison- 
ers, pretending  (such  was  his  craftiness)  a  great  tenderness  for 
their  welfare.  He  did  the  same  thing,  we  heard  afterwards, 
wherever  the  Monmouth  prisoners  were  confined.  At  Ilminster, 
the  fever  being  in  the  jail,  he  was  not  permitted  to  venture 
within,  but  stood  outside  and  asked  of  any  who  seemed  to 
know,  who  and  what  were  the  prisoners  within  and  what  were 
their  circumstances. 

He  accosted  me  one  morning  when  I  was  standing  at  the 
wicket  waiting  for  my  basket  to  be  taken  in. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  you  are  doubtless  a  friend  of  some  poor 
prisoner.  Your  father  or  your  brother  may  unhappily  be  lying 
within." 

Now  I  was  grown  somewhat  cautious  by  this  time.  Where- 
fore, fearing  some  kind  of  snare  or  trap,  I  replied,  gravely,  that 
such  indeed  might  be  the  case. 

"  Then,  madam,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  soft  voice  and  looking 
full  of  compassion,  "  if  that  be  so,  suffer  me,  I  pray  you,  to  wish 
him  a  happy  deliverance ;  and  this  indeed  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart." 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  moved  by  the  earnestness  of  his  manner,  "  I 
know  not  who  you  may  be,  but  I  thank  you.     Such  a  wish,  I  am 


"  He  accosted  me  one  morning  when  I  teas  standing  at  the  wicket  waiting 
for  my  basket  to  be  taken  in." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  207 

sure,  will  not  procure  you  the  reward  of  a  prison.  Sir,  I  wisli 
you  a  good-day." 

So  he  bowed  and  left  me  and  passed  on. 

But  next  day  I  found  him  in  the  same  place.  And  his  eyes 
were  more  filled  with  compassion  than  before,  and  his  voice  was 
softer. 

"  I  cannot  sleep,  madam,"  he  said,  "  for  thinking  of  these  poor 
prisoners  ;  I  hear  that  among  them  is  none  other  than  Sir  Chris- 
topher Challis,  a  gentleman  of  great  esteem  and  well  stricken  in 
years.  And  there  is  also  the  pious  and  learned  (but  most  un- 
fortunate) Dr.  Comfort  Eykin,  who  rode  with  the  army  and 
preached  daily,  and  is  now,  I  hear,  grievously  wounded  and 
bedridden." 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  "  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin  is  my  father.  It  is  most 
true  that  he  is  a  prisoner,  and  that  he  is  wounded." 

He  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  now  certain,"  he  said,  "  that  Lord  Jeffreys  will  come 
down  to  conduct  the  trials.  Nay,  it  is  reported  that  he  has 
already  arrived  at  Salisbury,  breathing  fire  and  revenge,  and  that 
he  hath  with  him  four  other  judges  and  a  troop  of  horse.  AVhat 
they  will  do  with  so  many  prisoners  I  know  not.  I  fear  that  it 
will  go  hard  with  all ;  but,  as  happens  in  such  cases,  those  who 
have  money,  and  know  how  to  spend  it,  may  speedily  get  their 
liberty." 

"  How  are  they  to  spend  it  ?" 

"Why,  madam,  it  is  not  indeed  to  be  looked  for  that  you 
should  know.  But  when  the  time  comes  for  the  trial,  should  I, 
as  will  very  likely  happen,  be  in  the  way,  send  for  me,  and  what- 
ever the  sentence,  I  warrant  we  shall  find  a  way  to  'scape  it — ■ 
even  if  it  be  a  sentence  of  death.  Send  for  me ;  my  name  is 
George  Penne,  and  I  am  a  well-known  merchant  of  Bristol." 

It  was  then  that  Barnaby  came  to  the  other  side  of  the  wicket. 
We  could  talk,  but  could  not  touch  each  other. 

"  All  is  well,  sis,"  he  said,  "  dad  is  neither  better  nor  worse, 
and  Sir  Christopher  is  hearty,  though  the  prison  is  like  the 
'tween  decks  of  a  ship  with  yellow- jack  aboard,  just  as  sweet 
and  pleasant  for  the  air  and  just  as  merry  for  the  crew." 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  "  the  judges  are  now  at  Salisbury." 

"  Ay,  ay ;  I  thought  they  would  have  been  there  before.  AVe 
shall  be  tried,  they  tell  me,  at  Wells,  which  it  is  thought  will  bo 


208  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

taken  after  other  towns.  So  there  is  still  a  tidy  length  of  rope. 
Sis,  this  continual  smoking  of  tobacco  to  keep  ofE  infection  dotli 
keep  a  body  dry.  Cider  will  serve,  but  let  it  be  a  runlet  at 
least." 

"  He  called  you  sister,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Penne,  curiously. 
"  Have  you  brother  as  well  as  father  in  this  place  ?" 

*'  Alas !  sir,  I  have  not  only  my  father,  my  mother,  and  my 
brother  in  this  place,  but  my  father-in-law  (as  1  hoped  soon  to 
call  him),  and  in  Exeter  jail  is  my  lover  and  his  cousin.  Oh, 
sir,  if  you  mean  honestly — " 

"  Madam,"  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  "  I  am  all  honesty. 
I  have  no  other  thought,  I  swear  to  you,  than  to  save,  if  possible, 
the  lives  of  these  poor  men." 

He  walked  with  me  to  my  lodging  and  I  there  told  him  not 
only  concerning  our  own  people,  but  also  all  that  I  knew  of  the 
prisoners  in  this  jail ;  they  were  for  the  most  part  poor  and  hum- 
ble men.  He  made  notes  in  a  book,  which  caused  me  some 
misgivings,  but  he  assured  me  again  and  again  that  all  he  de- 
sired was  to  save  their  lives.  And  I  now  understand  that  he 
spoke  the  truth  indeed,  but  not  the  whole  truth. 

"  Your  brother,  for  instance,"  he  said ;  "  oh,  madam,  'twere  a 
thousand  pities  that  so  brave  a  young  man,  so  stout  withal, 
should  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  And  your  lover  at 
Exeter,  doubtless  a  tall  and  proper  youth  ;  and  the  other  whom 
you  have  named.  Dr.  Humphrey  Challis,  and  your  father-in-law 
(as  I  hope  he  will  be),  Sir  Christopher,  and  your  own  father. 
WTiy,  madam,"  he  grew  quite  warm  upon  it,  "  if  you  will  but 
furnish  some  honest  merchant  —  I  say  not  myself,  because  I 
know  not  if  you  would  trust  me — but  some  honest  merchant 
with  the  necessary  moneys,  I  will  engage  that  they  shall  all  be 
saved  from  hanging.  To  be  sure  these  are  all  captains  and 
officers,  and  to  get  their  absolute  pardon  will  be  a  great  matter, 
perhaps  above  your  means.  Yet  Sir  Christopher  hath  a  good 
estate  I  am  told." 

This  George  Penne  was,  it  is  true,  a  Bristol  merchant,  en- 
gaged in  the  East  India  trade ;  that  is  to  say,  he  bought  sugar 
and  tobacco,  and  had  shares  in  ships  which  sailed  to  and  from 
Bristol  and  the  West  Indies,  and  sometimes  made  voyages  to 
the  Guinea  Coast  for  negroes.  But,  in  common  with  many 
Bristol  merchants,  he  had  another  trade,  and  a  very  profitable 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  209 

trade  it  is,  namely,  what  is  called  kidnapping ;  that  is,  buying-  or 
otherwise  securing  criminals  who  have  been  pardoned  or  re 
prieved  on  condition  of  going  to  the  plantations.  They  sell 
these  wretches  for  a  term  of  years  to  the  planters  and  make 
a  great  profit  by  the  transaction.  And,  foreseeing  that  there 
would  presently  be  a  rare  abundance  of  such  prisoners,  the 
honest  Mr.  George  Penne  was  going  from  prison  to  prison,  find- 
ing out  what  persons  of  substance  there  were  who  would  pay 
for  their  sentence  to  be  thus  mitigated.  In  the  event,  though 
things  w^cre  not  ordered  exactly  as  he  could  have  wished,  this 
worthy  man  (his  true  worth  you  shall  presently  learn)  made  a 
pretty  penny,  as  the  saying  is,  out  of  the  prisoners.  What  he 
made  out  of  us,  and  by  what  lies,  you  shall  learn.  But,  by  ill- 
fortune,  he  got  not  the  fingering  of  the  great  sums  which  he 
hoped  of  us. 

And  now  the  news,  from  Winchester  first,  and  from  Dorclies- 
ter  afterwards,  filled  the  hearts  of  all  with  a  dismay  which  is  be- 
yond all  power  of  words  to  tell.  For  if  an  ancient  lady  of  good 
repute  (though  the  widow  of  a  regicide),  such  a  woman  as  Lady 
Lisle,  seventy  years  of  age,  could  be  condemned  to  be  burned, 
and  was  in  fact  beheaded,  for  no  greater  offence  than  harboring 
two  rebels  herself,  ignorant  of  who  they  were,  or  vrhence  they 
came,  what  could  any  hope  who  had  actually  borne  arms  ?  And, 
again,  at  Dorchester,  thirty  who  pleaded  not  guilty  were  found 
guilty  and  condemned  to  be  hanged,  and  nearly  three  hundred 
who  pleaded  guilty  were  sentenced  to  be  hanged  at  the  same 
time.  It  was  not  an  idle  threat  intended  to  terrify  the  rest,  be- 
cause thirteen  of  the  number  were  executed  on  the  following 
Monday,  and  eighty  afterwards.  Among  those  who  were  first 
hanged  were  many  whom  we  knew.  The  aged  and  pious  Dr. 
Sampson  Larke,  the  Baptist  minister  of  Lynn,  for  instance,  was 
one,  Colonel  Holmes  (whom  the  king  had  actually  pardoned) 
was  another,  and  young  Mr.  IleAvling,  whose  case  was  like  that  of 
Robin's.  This  terrible  news  caused  great  despondency  and  choking 
in  the  prison,  where  also  the  fever  daily  carried  off  one  or  two. 

Oh,  my  poor  heart  fell,  and  I  almost  lost  the  power  of  prayer, 
when  I  heard  that  from  Dorchester  the  judge  was  riding  in  great 
state,  driving  his  prisoners  before  him,  to  Exeter,  where  there 
were  two  hundred  waiting  their  trial.  And  among  them  Robin 
— my  Robin. 

O 


210  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

BENJAMIN, 

It  was  the  evening  of  September  the  sixteenth,  about  nine  of 
the  clock.  I  was  sitting  alone  in  my  lodging.  Down-stairs  I 
heard  the  voice  of  the  poor  widow,  Mrs.  Prior,  who  had  received 
us.  She  was  praying  aloud  with  some  godly  friends  for  the 
safety  of  her  sons.  These  young  men,  as  I  have  said,  were 
never  more  heard  of,  and  Avere  therefore  already,  doubtless,  past 
praying  for.  I,  who  ought  to  have  been  praying  with  them, 
held  Robin's  last  letter  in  my  hands.  I  knew  it  by  heart,  but  I 
must  still  be  reading  it  again  and  again  ;  thinking  it  was  his 
voice  which  was  indeed  speaking  to  me,  trying  to  feel  his  pres- 
ence near  me,  to  hear  his  breath,  to  see  his  very  eyes.  In  the 
night,  waking  or  sleeping,  I  still  would  hear  him  calling  to  me 
aloud.  "  My  heart — my  life — my  love  !"  he  would  cry.  I  heard 
him,  I  say,  quite  plainly.  By  special  mercy  and  grace  this 
power  was  accorded  to  me,  because  I  have  no  doubt  that  in  his 
mind,  while  lying  in  his  noisome  prison,  he  did  turn  his 
thoughts,  yea,  and  the  yearnings  of  his  fond  heart,  to  the 
maid  he  loved.  But  now  the  merciless  judge  who  had  sen- 
tenced three  hundred  men  to  one  common  doom — three  hun- 
dred men !  was  such  a  sentence  ever  known  ? — had  left  Dor- 
chester, and  was  already,  perhaps,  at  Exeter.  Oh  !  Perhaps 
Robin  had  by  this  time  stood  his  trial ;  what  place  was  left  for 
prayer?  For  if  the  poor  ignorant  clowns  Avere  condemned  to 
death,  how  much  more  the  gentlemen,  the  officers  of  Monmouth's 
army.  Perhaps  he  was  already  executed — my  lover — my  boy — 
my  Robin — taken  out  and  hanged,  and  now  a  cold  and  senseless 
corpse.  Then  the  wailings  and  prayers  of  the  poor  woman 
below,  added  to  the  distraction  of  these  thoughts,  made  me 
feel  as  if  I  were  indeed  losing  my  senses.  At  this  time  it  was 
blow  upon  blow ;  line  upon  line ;  the  sky  was  black ;  the  heav- 
ens  were    deaf.      Is   there,  can   there    be,  a    more    miserable 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  211 

thing  than  to  feel  that  the  very  heavens  are  deaf  ?  The  merey 
of  the  Lord,  his  kindly  heartening  to  our  cries  and  prayers, 
these  we  believe  as  we  look  for  the  light  of  day  and  the  warmth 
of  the  sun.  Nay,  this  belief  is  the  very  breath  of  our  life,  so 
that  there  is  none  but  the  most  hardened  and  abandoned  sinner 
who  doth  not  still  feel  that  he  hath  in  the  Lord  a  Father  as 
well  as  a  Judge.  To  lose  that  belief — 'twere  better  to  be  a 
lump  of  senseless  clay.  The  greatest  misery  of  the  lost  soul, 
even  greater  than  his  continual  torment  of  fire,  and  his  never- 
ending  thirst,  and  the  gnawing  of  remorse,  must  be  to  feel  that 
the  heavens  are  deaf  to  his  prayers ;  deaf  forever  and  forever. 

At  this  time  my  prayers  were  all  for  safety.  "  Safety,  good 
Lord,  give  them  safety.  Save  them  from  the  executioner.  Give 
them  safety."  Thus,  as  Barnaby  said,  the  shipwrecked  mari- 
ner clinging  to  the  mast  asks  not  for  a  green,  pleasant,  and  fer- 
tile shore,  but  for  land — only  for  land.  I  sat  there  musing 
sadly,  the  Bible  on  the  table  and  a  lighted  candle.  I  read  not 
in  the  Bible,  but  listened  to  the  wailing  of  the  poor  soul  below, 
and  looked  at  the  churchyard  without,  the  moonlight  falling 
upon  the  fresh  mounds  which  covered  the  graves  of  the  poor, 
dead  prisoners.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  voice — a  loud  and  harsh 
voice — and  footsteps.  1  knew  both  footsteps  and  voice,  and  I 
sprang  to  my  feet  trembling,  because  I  was  certain  that  some 
new  disaster  had  befallen  us. 

Then  the  steps  mounted  the  stairs,  the  door  was  opened,  and 
Benjamin — none  other  than  Benjamin — appeared.  What  did 
he  here  ?  He  was  so  big,  with  so  red  a  face,  that  his  presence 
seemed  to  fill  the  room.  And  with  him — what  did  this  mean  ? — 
came  madam  herself,  who  I  thought  to  have  been  at  Exeter. 
x\las !  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  her  cheeks  were  thin 
and  wasted  with  sorrow  ;  her  lips  were  trembling. 

"  Grace !"  she  cried,  holding  out  her  hands.  "  Child,  these  ter- 
rible things  are  done,  and  yet  we  live.  Alas!  we  live.  Are 
our  hearts  made  of  stone  that  we  still  live  ?  As  for  me,  I  can- 
not die,  though  I  lose  all — all — all." 

"  Dear  madam,  what  hath  happened  ?  More  misery  !  more 
disaster  !     Oh,  tell  me — tell  me." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  they  have  been  tried ;  they  have  been  tried 
and  they  are  condemned  to  die,  both  Robin — my  son  Robin — 
and  with  him  Humphrey,  who  dragged  him  into  the  business 


212  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

and  alone  ought  to  suffer  for  both.  But  there  is  now  no  justice 
in  the  land.  No — no  more  justice  can  be  had.  Else  Humphrey 
should  have  suffered  for  all." 

There  was  something  strange  in  her  eyes ;  she  did  not  look 
like  a  mother  robbed  of  her  children ;  she  gazed  upon  me  as  if 
there  were  something  else  upon  her  mind,  as  if  the  condemna- 
tion of  her  son  was  not  enough  ! 

"  Robin  will  be  hanged,"  she  went  on.  "  He  hath  been  the 
only  comfort  of  my  life  since  my  husband  was  taken  from  me, 
when  he  was  left  an  infant  in  my  arms,  Robin  will  be  hanged 
like  any  common  gypsy  caught  stealing  a  sheep.  He  will  be 
hanged  and  drawn  and  quartered,  and  those  goodly  limbs  of  his 
will  be  stuck  upon  poles  for  all  to  see." 

Truly  I  looked  for  nothing  less.  Baruaby  bade  me  look  for 
nothing  less  than  this,  but  at  the  news  I  fell  into  a  swoon.  So 
one  who  knoweth  beforehand  that  he  is  to  feel  the  surgeon's 
knife,  and  thinks  to  endure  the  agony  without  a  cry,  is  fain  to 
shriek  and  scream  when  the  moment  comes. 

When  I  recovered  I  was  sitting  at  the  open  window,  madam 
applying  a  wet  cloth  to  my  forehead. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  Benjamin  was  saying.  "  She  will  do  what 
you  command  her,  so  only  that  he  may  go  free." 

"  Is  there  no  way  but  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"  None."     And  then  he  swore  a  great  oath. 

My  eyes  being  open  and  my  sense  returned,  I  perceived  that 
Mrs.  Prior  was  also  in  the  room.  And  I  wondered  (in  such 
moments  the  mind  finds  relief  in  trifles)  that  Benjamin's  face 
should  have  grown  so  red  and  his  cheeks  so  fat. 

"  Thou  hast  been  in  a  swoon,  my  dear,"  said  madam,  "  but 
'tis  past." 

"  Why  is  Benjamin  here  ?''  I  asked. 

He  looked  at  madam,  who  cast  down  her  eyes,  I  knew  not 
why. 

"  Benjamin  is  now  our  only  friend,"  she  replied,  without  look- 
ing up.  "  It  is  out  of  his  kindness — yes,  his  kindness  of  heart — 
that  he  hath  come." 

"  I  do  not  understand.  If  Robin  is  to  die,  Avhat  kindness 
can  he  show  ?" 

"  Tell  her,  Benjamin,"  said  madam,  "  tell  her  of  the  trials  at 
Exeter." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  213 

"  His  lordship  came  to  Exeter,"  Benjamin  began,  on  the  even- 
ing of  September  the  thirteenth,  escorted  by  many  country 
gentlemen  and  a  troop  of  horse.  I  had  the  honor  of  riding 
with  him.  The  trials  began  the  day  before  yesterday,  the 
fourteenth." 

"  Pray,  good  sir,"  asked  the  poor  woman  who  had  lost  her 
son,  "  did  you  observe  my  boy  among  the  prisoners  ?" 

"  How  the  devil  should  I  know  your  boy  ?"  he  replied,  turn- 
ing upon  her  roughly,  so  that  she  asked  no  more  questions.  "  If 
they  were  rebels  they  deserve  hanging,"  here  she  shrieked  aloud 
and  fled  the  room.  "  The  trials  began  with  two  fellows  who 
pleaded,  '  not  guilty,'  but  were  quickly  proved  to  have  been  in 
arms  and  were  condemned  to  death.  One  of  them  being  sent 
out  to  instant  execution,  the  rest  who  were  brought  up  that  day, 
among  whom  were  Robin  and  Humphrey,  pleaded  guilty,  being 
partly  terrified  and  partly  persuaded  that  it  was  their  only  chance 
of  escape.  So  they,  too,  were  condemned,  two  hundred  and  forty 
in  all,  every  man  Jack  of  them,  to  be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quar- 
tered, and  their  limbs  to  be  afterwards  stuck  on  poles  for  the 
greater  terror  of  evil-doers ;"  he  said  these  words  with  such  a 
fire  in  his  eyes,  and  in  such  a  dreadful  threatening  voice  as  made 
me  tremble.  "  Then  they  were  all  taken  back  to  jail,  where  they 
will  lie  until  the  day  of  execution,  and  the  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  their  souls !" 

The  terrible  Judge  Jeffreys  himself  could  not  look  more  ter- 
rible than  Benjamin  when  he  uttered  the  prayer  with  which  a 
sentence  to  death  is  concluded. 

"  Benjamin,  were  you  in  the  court  to  see  and  hear  the  con- 
demnation of  your  own  cousins  ?" 

"  I  was.  I  sat  in  the  body  of  the  court,  in  the  place  reserved 
for  counsel." 

"  Could  you  say  nothing  that  would  help  them  ?" 

*'  Nothing.  Not  a  word  from  any  one  could  help  them.  Con- 
sider, one  of  them  was  an  officer,  and  one  of  them  was  a  surgeon 
in  the  army.  The  ignorant  rustics  whom  they  led  may  some 
of  them  escape,  but  the  officers  can  look  for  no  mercy." 

"  Madam,"  I  cried,  "  I  must  see  Robin  before  he  dies,  though 
God  knows  there  are  those  here  who  want  my  services  daily. 
Yet  I  must  see  Robin.  He  will  not  die  easy  unless  he  sees  me 
and  kisses  me  once." 


214  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Madam  made  no  reply. 

"  For  a  week,"  said  Benjamin,  "  they  are  safe.  I  do  not 
think  they  will  be  executed  for  a  week  at  least.  But  it  is  not 
wise  to  reckon  on  a  reprieve  even  for  an  hour ;  the  judge  may 
at  any  time  order  their  execution." 

"  I  will  go  to-morrow." 

"  That  will  he  seen,"  said  Benjamin. 

"  My  dear,"  said  madam,  "  my  nephew  Benjamin  is  a  friend 
of  the  judge.  Lord  Jeffreys." 

"  Say  rather  a  follower  and  admirer  of  that  great,  learned,  and 
religious  man.  One  who  is  yet  but  a  member  of  the  outer  bar 
must  not  assume  the  style  and  title  of  friend  to  a  man  whose 
next  step  must  be  the  woolsack." 

Heavens  !  He  called  the  inhuman  wretch  who  had  sentenced 
an  innocent  old  woman  of  seventy  to  be  burned  alive,  and  five 
hundred  persons  to  be  hanged,  and  one  knows  not  how  many 
to  be  inhumanly  flogged — great  and  religious ! 

"  If  interest  can  save  any,"  madam  said,  softly,  "  Benjamin 
can  command  that  interest,  and  he  is  on  the  side  of  mercy,  es- 
pecially where  his  cousins  are  concerned." 

I  now  observed  that  madam,  who  had  not  formerly  been  wont 
to  regard  her  nephew  with  much  affection,  observed  towards 
him  the  greatest  respect  and  submission. 

"  Madam,"  he  replied,  "  you  know  the  goodness  of  my  heart. 
What  man  can  do  shall  be  done  by  me,  not  only  for  Robin,  but  for 
the  others  who  are  involved  with  him  in  common  ruin.  But  there 
are  conditions  with  which  I  have  taken  pains  to  acquaint  you." 

Madam  sighed  heavily  and  looked  as  if  she  would  speak,  but 
refrained,  and  I  saw  the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

"What  conditions,  Benjamin?"  I  asked  him.  "Conditions! 
For  trying  to  save  your  own  cousins,  and  your  own  grandfather! 
Conditions  !  Why,  you  should  be  moving  heaven  and  earth  for 
them  instead  of  making  conditions." 

"  It  needs  not  so  much  exertion,"  he  replied,  with  an  unbe- 
coming grin.  "  First,  Grace,  I  must  own,  child,  that  the  two 
years  or  thereabouts  since  I  saw  thee  last  have  added  greatly  to 
thy  charms,  at  which  I  rejoice." 

"  Oh,  what  have  my  charms  to  do  with  the  business  ?" 

"Much,  as  thou  wilt  presently  discover.  But  let  me  re- 
mind you  both  that  there  threaten — nay,  there  are  actually  over- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  215 

hanejing — disasters,  the  like  of  whicli  never  happen  save  in  time 
of  civil  war  and  of  rebellion.  My  grandfather  is  in  prison,  and 
will  be  tried  on  a  charge  of  sending  men  and  horses  to  join 
Monmouth.  Nay,  the  duke's  proclamation  was  found  in  his 
house ;  he  will  be  certainly  condemned,  and  his  estates  contis- 
cated.  So  there  will  be  an  end  of  as  old  a  family  as  lives  in 
Somerset.  Then  there  is  thy  father,  child,  who  was  preacher  to 
the  army,  and  did  make  mischief  in  stirring  up  the  fanatical 
zeal  of  many.  Think  you  that  he  can  escape  ?  Then  there  is 
thy  brother,  Barnaby,  who  was  such  a  fool  as  to  meddle  in  what 
concerned  him  not,  and  now  will  hang  therefor.  What  can  we 
expect  ?  Are  men  to  go  unpunished  who  thus  rebel  against  the 
Lord's  Anointed  ?  Is  treason,  rank  treason,  the  setting-up  of  a 
pretender  prince  (who  is  now  lying  headless  in  his  coftin)  as 
the  rightful  heir  to  be  forgiven?  We  must  not  look  for  it. 
Alas !  madam,  had  I  been  with  you  instead  of  that  conceited, 
fanatical,  crookback  Humphrey,  whom  I  did  ever  detest,  none 
of  these  things  should  have  happened." 

"  Humphrey,"  I  said,  "  has  more  worth  in  his  finger  than  you 
in  your  great  body,  Benjamin." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  do  not  anger  Benjamin.  Oh,  do  not 
anger  our  only  friend." 

"  She  may  say  what  she  pleases.  My  time  will  come.  Listen, 
then.  They  must  all  be  hanged  unless  I  can  succeed  in  getting 
them  pardoned." 

"  Nay,  but  forgive  my  rudeness,  Benjamin ;  they  are  your 
own  cousins ;  it  is  your  own  grandfather.  What  need  of  con- 
ditions ?  Oh,  what  does  this  mean  ?  Are  you  a  man  of  flesh 
and  blood  ?" 

"  My  conditions,  child,  will  assure  you  that  such  is  truly  the 
nature  of  my  composition." 

"  If  money  is  Avanted  " — I  thought  of  my  bag  of  gold,  and  of 
Mr.  Penne's  hints — "  how  much  will  suffice  ?" 

"  I  know  not.  If  it  comes  to  buying  them  off,  more  thou- 
sands than  could  be  raised  on  the  Bradford  Orcas  estates.  Put 
money  out  of  mind." 

"  Then,  Benjamin,  save  them  if  thou  canst." 

"  His  lordship  knows  that  I  have  near  relations  concerned  in 
the  rebellion.  Yet,  he  assured  me,  if  his  own  brothers  were 
among  the  prisoners  he  would  hang  them  all." 


216  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Nay,  then,  Benjamin,  I  say  no  more.  Tell  me  what  are 
these  conditions,  and  if  we  can  grant  or  contrive  them,  v/e  will 
comply."  I  had  no  thought  of  what  was  meant  by  his  condi- 
tions. Nor  did  I  even  guess  until  the  morning  when  madam 
told  me.  "  Oh,  madam,  is  there' anything  in  the  world — any- 
thing, that  we  would  not  do  to  save  them  ?" 

Madam  looked  at  me  with  so  much  pity  in  her  eyes  that  I 
wondered.  It  was  pity  for  me,  and  not  for  her  son  that  I  read 
in  that  look.     Why  did  she  pity  me  ? 

I  understood  not. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "there  are  times  when  women  are  called 
upon  to  make  sacrifices  which  they  never  thought  to  make, 
which  seem  impossible  to  be  even  asked." 

"  Oh,  there  are  no  sacrifices  which  we  would  not  gladly  make. 
What  can  Benjamin  require  that  we  should  not  gladly  do  for 
him?  Nay,  he  is  Robin's  cousin,  and  your  nephew,  and  Sir 
Christopher's  grandson.  He  will,  if  need  be,  join  us  in  making 
these  sacrifices." 

"  I  will,"  said  Benjamin.  "  I  will  join  you  in  making  that 
sacrifice  with  a  willing  heart." 

"  I  will  tell  her  to-morrow,"  said  madam.  "  No,  I  cannot  tell 
her  to-night.  Let  us  rest.  Go,  sir,  leave  us  to  our  sorrow.  It 
may  be  that  we  may  think  the  sacrifice  too  great  even  for  the 
lives  and  safety  of  those  we  love.  Go,  sir,  for  to-night,  and  re- 
turn to-morrow." 

"  Surely,  child,"  said  madam,  presently,  when  he  was  gone,  and 
we  were  alone,  "  we  are  the  most  unhappy  women  in  the  Avorld." 

"  Nay,"  I  replied.  "  There  have  been  other  women  before  us 
who  have  been  ruined  and  widowed  by  civil  wars  and  rebel- 
lions. If  it  be  any  comfort  to  think  that  others  have  suffered 
like  ourselves,  then  we  may  comfort  ourselves.  But  the  thought 
brings  no  consolation  to  me." 

"  Ilagar,"  said  madam,  "  was  a  miserable  woman  because  she 
was  cast  out  by  the  man  she  loved,  even  the  father  of  her  son. 
Rachel  was  unhappy  until  the  Lord  gave  her  a  son.  Jephthah's 
daughter  was  unhappy,  my  dear ;  there  is  no  case  except  hers 
which  may  be  compared  with  ours,  and  Jephthah's  daughter  was 
happy  in  one  circumstance,  that  she  was  permitted  to  die.  Ah ! 
happy  girl,  she  died.  That  was  all  her  sacrifice,  to  die  for  the 
sake  of  her  father.     But  what  is  ours  2" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  217 

So  she  spoke  in  riddles,  or  dark  sayings,  of  which  I  under- 
stood nothing.  Nevertheless,  before  lying  down,  I  did  solemn- 
ly, and,  in  her  presence  and  hearing,  aloud,  upon  my  knees,  offer 
unto  Almighty  God  myself — -my  very  life — if  so  that  Robin 
could  be  saved.  And  then,  with  lighter  heart  than  I  had  known 
for  long,  I  lay  down  and  slept. 

At  midnight  or  thereabouts  madam  woke  me  up. 
"  Child,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  sleep.     Tell  me  truly,  is  there 
nothing  that  thou  wouldst  refuse  for  Robin's  sake  ?" 
"  Nothing,  verily.     Ah,  madam,  can  you  doubt  it  V 
"  Even  if  it  were  a  sacrifice  of  which  he  would  not  approve  ?" 
"  Believe  me,  madam,  there  is  nothing  that  I  would  not  do 
for  Robin's  safety." 

"  Child,  if  we  were  living  in  the  days  of  persecution  wouldst 
thou  hear  the  mass  and  adopt  the  Catholic  religion  to  save  thy 
lover's  life  ?" 

"  Oh,  madam,  the  Lord  will  never  try  us  above  our  strength." 
"  Sleep,  my  child,  sleep.     And  pray  that  as  thy  temptation, 
so  may  be  thy  strength." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ON     WHAT     CONDITIONS? 


In  the  morning  I  awoke  with  a  lighter  heart  than  I  had  knoAvn 
for  a  long  time.  Benjamin  was  going  to  release  our  prisoner ; 
I  should  go  to  meet  Robin  at  the  gate  of  his  prison ;  all  would 
be  well,  except  that  my  father  would  never  recover.  We  should 
return  to  the  village,  and  everything  should  go  on  as  before. 
Oh,  poor  fond  wretch !  How  was  I  deluded,  and  oh,  miser- 
able day  that  ended  with  such  shame  and  sadness,  yet  began 
with  so  much  hope. 

Madam  was  already  dressed.  She  was  sitting  at  the  window 
looking  into  the  churchyard.  She  had  been  crying.  Alas, 
how  many  women  in  Somersetshire  were  then  weeping  all  day 
long ! 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  we  now  have  hope.  We  must  not  weep 
and  lament  any  more.  Oh,  to  have  at  least  a  little  hope,  when 
we  have  lived  so  long  in  despair,  it  makes  one  breathe  again. 
10 


218  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Benjamin  will  save  our  prisoners  for  us.  Oh,  after  all,  it  is 
Benjamin  who  will  help  us.  We  did  not  use  to  love  Benjamin 
because  he  was  rude  and  masterful,  and  wanted  everything  for 
himself,  and  would  never  give  up  anything.  Yet,  you  see,  he 
had  after  all  a  good  heart" — madam  groaned — "and  he  can- 
not forget,  though  he  foUoweth  not  his  grandfather's  opinions, 
that  he  is  his  honor's  grandson — the  son  of  his  only  daughter — 
and  your  nephew,  and  first  cousin  to  Uobin  and  second  cousin 
once  removed  to  Humphrey  and  Barnahy,  playfellows  of  old. 
Why,  these  are  ties  which  bind  him  as  if  with  ropes.  He  needs 
must  bestir  himself  to  save  their  lives.  And  since  he  says 
that  he  can  save  them,  of  course  he  must  have  bestirred  himself 
to  some  purpose.  Weep  no  more,  dear  madam.  Your  son 
will  be  restored  to  us.  We  shall  be  happy  again,  thanks  to 
Benjamin." 

"Child,"  she  replied,  "my  heart  is  broken;  it  is  broken,  I 
say.  Oh,  to  be  lying  dead  and  at  peace  in  yonder  church- 
yard !  Never  before  did  I  think  that  it  must  be  a  happy  thing 
to  be  dead  and  at  rest,  and  to  feel  nothing  and  to  know  noth- 
ing." 

"  But,  madam,  the  dead  are  not  in  their  graves  ;  there  lie  only 
the  bodies,  their  souls  are  above." 

"  Then  they  still  think  and  remember.  Oh,  can  a  time  ever 
come  when  things  can  be  forgotten  ?  Will  the  dead  ever  cease 
to  reproach  themselves?" 

She  wrung  her  hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  grief,  though  I  knew 
not  what  should  move  her  so.  Indeed,  she  Avas  commonly  a 
woman  of  sober  and  contained  disposition,  entirely  governed 
both  in  her  temper  and  in  her  words.  What  was  in  her  mind 
that  she  should  accuse  herself?  Then,  while  I  was  dressing, 
she  went  on  talking,  being  still  full  of  this  strong  passion. 

"  I  shall  have  my  boy  back  again,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  he  will 
come  back  to  me.  And  what  will  he  say  to  me  when  I  tell  him 
all  ?  Yet  I  must  have  him  back.  Oh,  to  think  of  the  hang- 
man tying  the  rope  about  his  neck  " — she  shuddered  and  trem- 
bled— "  and  afterwards  the  cruel  knife  " — she  clasped  her  hands 
and  could  not  say  the  words.  "  I  see  the  comely  limbs  of  my 
boy — oh,  the  thought  tears  my  heart — it  tears  me  through  and 
through ;  I  cannot  think  of  anything  else  day  or  night ;  and 
yet  in  the  prison  he  is  so  patient  and  so  cheerful.     I  marvel 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  219 

that  men  can  be  so  patient  with  this  dreadful  death  before 
them."  She  broke  out  again  into  another  passion  of  sobbing 
and  crying.  Then  she  became  cahner  and  tried  to  speak  of 
things  less  dreadful. 

"  When  first  I  visited  my  boy  in  prison,"  she  said,  "  Humphrey 
came  humbly  to  ask  my  pardon.  Poor  lad !  I  have  had  hard 
thoughts  of  him.  It  is  certain  that  he  was  in  the  plot  from  the 
beginning.  Yet  had  he  not  gone  so  far,  should  we  have  sat 
down  when  the  rising  began  ?  But  he  doth  still  accuse  himself 
of  rashness  and  calls  himself  the  cause  of  all  our  misfortunes. 
He  fell  upon  his  knees,  in  the  sight  of  all,  to  ask  forgiveness, 
saying  that  it  was  he  and  none  other  who  had  brought  ruin 
upon  us  all.  Then  Robin  begged  me  to  raise  him  up  and  com- 
fort him,  which  I  did,  putting  aside  my  hard  thoughts  and  tell- 
ing him  that  being  such  stubborn  Protestants  our  lads  could 
not  choose  but  join  the  duke  whether  he  advised  it  or  whether 
he  did  not.  Nay,  I  told  him  that  Robin  would  have  dragged 
him  willy-nilly.  And  so  I  kissed  him,  and  Robin  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  solemnly  assured  him  that  his  grandfather  had 
no  such  thought  in  his  mind." 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "  my  father  and  Barnaby  would  certainly  have 
joined  the  duke,  Humphrey  or  not.  Never  were  any  men  more 
eager  for  rebellion." 

"  I  have  been  to  London,"  she  went  on.  "  'Tis  a  long 
journey  and  I  effected  nothing,  for  the  mind  of  the  king,  I  was 
assured,  is  harder  than  the  nether  millstone.  My  brother-in- 
law  Boscorel  went  wdth  me,  and  I  left  him  there.  But  I  have 
no  hope  that  he  wull  be  able  to  help  us,  his  old  friends  being 
much  scattered  and  many  of  them  dead,  and  some  hostile  to  the 
court  and  in  ill  favor.  So  I  returned,  seeing  that  if  I  could  not 
save  my  son  I  could  be  with  him  until  he  died.  The  day  be- 
fore yesterday  he  was  tried,  if  you  call  that  a  trial  when  hun- 
dreds together  plead  guilty  and  are  all  alike  sentenced  to 
death." 

"Have  you  been  home  since  the  trial?" 

"  I  went  to  the  prison  as  soon  as  they  were  brought  back 
from  court.  Some  of  the  people — for  they  were  all  condemned 
to  death,  every  one — were  crying  and  lamenting.  And  there 
were  many  women  among  them,  their  wives  or  their  mothers, 
and  these  were  shrieking  and  wringing  their  hands,  so  that  it 


220  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

was  a  terrible  spectacle.  But  some  of  the  men  called  for  drink 
and  began  to  carouse,  so  that  they  might  drown  the  thought  of 
impending  death.  My  dear,  I  never  thought  to  look  upon  a 
scene  so  full  of  horror.  As  for  our  own  boys,  Robin  was 
patient  and  even  cheerful,  and  Humphrey,  leading  us  to  the 
most  quiet  spot  in  that  dreadful  place,  exhorted  us  to  lose 
no  time  in  weeping  or  vain  laments,  but  to  cheer  up  and  con- 
sole our  hearts  with  the  thought  that  death,  even  violent  death, 
is  but  a  brief  pang,  and  life  is  but  a  short  passage,  and  that 
heaven  awaits  us  beyond.  Humphrey  should  have  been  a 
minister,  such  is  the  natural  piety  and  goodness  of  his  heart. 
So  he  spoke  of  the  happy  meeting  in  that  place  of  blessedness 
where  earthly  love  would  be  purged  of  its  grossness  and  our 
souls  shall  be  so  glorified  that  we  shall  each  admire  the  beauty 
of  the  other.  Then  Robin  talked  of  you,  my  dear,  and  sent 
thee  a  loving  message,  bidding  thee  grieve  for  him,  but  not 
without  hope,  and  that  a  sure  and  certain  hope  of  meeting 
again.  There  are  other  things  he  bade  me  tell  thee,  but  now 
I  cannot — oh,  I  must  not." 

"  Nay,  madam,  but  if  they  are  words  that  he  wished  me  to  hear  ?" 

"  Why,  they  were  of  his  constant  love  and — and — no,  I  can- 
not tell  them." 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "  fret  not  thy  poor  heart  with  thinking  any 
more  of  the  prison,  for  Benjamin  will  surely  save  him,  and 
then  we  shall  love  Benjamin  all  our  lives." 

"He  will  perhaps  save  him.  And  yet — oh,  how  can  I  tell 
her? — we  shall  shed  many  more  tears.  How  can  I  tell  her? 
How  can  I  tell  her  ?" 

So  she  broke  off  again,  but  presently  recovered  and  went  on 
talking.  In  time  of  great  trouble  the  mind  wanders  back- 
ward and  forward,  and  though  one  talks  still,  it  is  disjointedly. 
So  she  went  back  to  the  prison. 

"  The  boys  have  been  well,  though  the  prison  is  full  and  the 
air  is  foul.  Yet  there  hath  been  as  yet  no  fever,  for  which 
they  are  thankful.  At  first  they  had  no  money,  the  soldiers 
who  took  them  prisoners  having  robbed  them  of  their  money, 
and  indeed  stripped  them,  as  w^ell,  to  their  shirts,  telling  them 
that  shirts  were  good  enough  to  be  hanged  in.  Yet  the  people 
of  Exeter  have  treated  the  prisoners  with  great  humanity,  bring- 
ing them,  daily,  food  and  drink,  so  that  there  has  been  nothing 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  221 

lacking.  The  time,  however,  doth  hang  upon  their  hands  in  a 
place  where  there  is  nothing  to  do  all  day  but  to  think  of  the 
past  and  to  dread  the  future.  One  poor  lady,  I  was  told,  hath 
gone  distracted  wiih.  the  terror  of  this  thought.  Child,  every 
day  that  I  visited  my  son,  while  he  talked  with  me,  always 
cheerful  and  smiling,  my  mind  turned  continually  to  the  scaffold 
and  the  gibbet."  Then  she  returned  to  the  old  subject,  from 
which  she  could  in  no  way  escape.  "  I  saw  the  hangman.  I 
saw  my  son  hanging  to  the  shameful  tree — oh !  my  son !  my 
son ! — till  I  could  bear  it  no  longer  and  would  hurry  away  from 
the  prison  and  walk  about  the  town  over  the  fields — yea,  all 
night  long — to  escape  the  dreadful  thought.  Oh,  to  be  blessed 
with  such  a  son  and  to  have  him  torn  from  my  arms  for  such  a 
death.  If  he  had  been  killed  upon  the  field  of  battle  'twould 
have  been  easier  to  bear.  But  now  he  dies  daily,  he  dies  a 
thousand  deaths  in  my  mind.  My  child  " — she  turned  again  to 
the  churchyard — "  the  rooks  are  cawing  in  their  nests ;  the 
sparrows  and  the  robins  hop  among  the  graves ;  the  dead  hear 
nothing ;  all  their  troubles  are  over,  all  their  sins  are  forgiven." 

I  comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could.  Indeed,  I  understood 
not  at  all  what  she  meant,  thinking  that  perhaps  all  her  trouble 
had  caused  her  to  be  in  that  frame  of  mind  when  a  woman  doth 
not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry.  And  then,  taking  my 
basket,  I  sallied  forth  to  provide  the  day's  provisions  for  my 
prisoners. 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  when  he  came  to  the  wicket,  "  I  have  good 
news  for  thee." 

"  What  good  news  ?  That  I  am  to  be  flogged  once  a  year  in 
every  market  town  in  Somersetshire,  as  will  happen  to  young 
Tutchin?" 

"  No,  no,  not  that  kind  of  news ;  but  freedom,  brother,  hope 
for  freedom." 

He  laughed.     "  Who  is  to  give  us  freedom  ?" 

"  Benjamin  hath  found  a  way  for  the  enlargement  of  all." 

"  Ben  Boscorel  ?  What,  will  he  stir  finger  for  the  sake  of 
anybody  ?  Then,  Sis,  if  I  remember  Ben  aright,  there  will  be 
something  for  himself.  But  if  it  is  upon  Ben  that  we  are  to 
rely  we  are  truly  well  sped.     On  Ben,  quotha !"' 

"  Brother,  he  told  me  so  himself." 

"  'Ware  hawks,  sister.     If  Ben  is  at  one  end  of  the  rope  and 


222  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

the  hangman  at  the  other,  I  think  I  know  who  will  be  stronger. 
Well,  child,  believe  Ben  if  thou  wilt.'  Thy  father  looks  strange 
this  morning ;  he  opened  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  know  me.  I 
wonder  if  there  is  a  change.  'Tis  wonderful  how  he  lasts. 
There  are  six  men  sickened  since  yesterday  of  the  fever ;  three 
of  them  brought  in  last  week  are  already  dead.  As  for  the 
singing  that  we  used  to  hear,  it  is  all  over,  and  if  the  men  get 
drunk  they  are  dumb  drunk.  Sir  Christopher  looks  but  poorly 
this  morning.  I  hope  he  will  not  take  the  fever.  lie  staggered 
when  he  arose,  which  is  a  bad  sign." 

"Tell  mother,  Barnaby,  what  Benjamin  hath  undertaken 
to  do." 

*'  Nay,  that  shall  I  not,  because,  look  you,  I  believe  it  not. 
There  is  some  trick  or  lie  at  the  bottom,  unless  Ben  hath  re- 
pented and  changed  his  disposition,  which  used  to  be  two  parts 
wolf,  one  part  bear,  and  the  rest  fox.  If  there  were  anything 
left  it  was  serpent.  Well,  sister,  I  am  no  grumbler,  but  I  ex- 
pect this  job  to  be  over  in  a  fortnight  or  so,  when  they  say  the 
Wells  Assizes  will  be  held.  Then  we  sliall  all  be  swinging  ;  and 
I  only  hope  that  we  may  carry  with  us  into  the  court  such  a 
breath  of  jail  fever  as  shall  lay  the  judge  himself  upon  his  back 
and  end  his  days.  In  the  next  world  he  will  meet  the  men 
whom  he  has  sentenced,  and  it  will  fare  worse  for  him  in  their 
hands  than  with  fifty  thousand  devils." 

So  he  took  a  drink  of  the  beer,  and  departed  within  the  pris- 
on, and  for  three  weeks  I  saw  him  no  more. 
On  my  way  home  I  met  Benjamin. 

"  Hath  madam  told  you  yet  of  my  conditions  ?"  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

"  Not  yet.  She  will  doubtless  tell  me  presently.  Oh,  what 
matter  for  the  conditions.  It  can  only  be  something  good  for 
us,  contrived  by  your  kind  heart.  Ben,  I  have  told  Barnaby, 
who  will  not  believe  in  our  good-fortune." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  something  very  good  for  you,  Alice,  as  you 
will  find.  Come  with  me,  and  walk  in  the  meadows,  beyond 
the  reach  of  this  doleful  place,  where  the  air  reeks  Avith  jail 
fever,  and  all  day  long  they  are  reading  the  funeral  service." 

So  he  led  me  out  upon  the  sloping  sides  of  a  hill,  where  we 
walked  awhile  upon  the  grass  very  pleasantly,  my  mind  being 
now  at  rest. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  223 

"You  have  licard  of  notliing,"  lie  said,  ''of  late,  but  of  the 
rebelHon  aud  its  consequences.     Let  us  talk  about  London." 

So  he  discoursed  concerning  his  own  profession  and  his  pros- 
pects, which,  he  said,  were  better  than  those  of  any  other  young 
lawyer,  in  his  own  opinion.  "  For  my  practice,"  he  said,  "  I  al- 
ready have  one  which  gives  me  an  income  far  beyond  my  wants, 
Avhich  are  simple.  Give  rae  plain  fare,  and  for  the  evening  a 
bottle  or  two  of  good  wine,  with  tobacco,  and  friends  who  love 
a  cheerful  glass.  I  ask  no  more.  My  course  lies  clear  before 
me  ;  I  shall  become  a  king's  counsel ;  I  shall  be  made  a  judge  ; 
presently  I  shall  become  lord  chancellor.  What  did  1  tell  thee, 
child,  long  ago  ?     Well,  that  time  has  now  arrived." 

Still  I  was  so  foolish,  being  so  happy,  that  I  could  not  under- 
stand what  he  meant. 

"  I  am  sure,  Benjamin,"  I  said,  "  that  we  at  home  shall  ever 
rejoice,  and  be  proud  of  your  success.  Nobody  will  be  more 
happy  to  hear  of  it  than  Robin  and  L" 

Here  he  turned  very  red,  and  muttered  something. 

"  You  find  your  happiness  in  courts  and  clubs  and  London," 
I  went  on ;  "  as  for  Robin  and  myself,  we  shall  find  ours  in  the 
peaceful  place  which  we  have  always  decided  to  have." 

"  What  the  devil — "  he  cried ;  "  hath  she  not  told  you  the 
condition  ?  She  came  with  me  for  no  other  purpose.  I  have 
borne  with  her  company  all  the  way  from  Exeter  for  this  only. 
Go  back  to  her,  and  ast  what  it  is.  Go  back,  I  say,  and  make 
her  tell.     W^hat,  am  I  to  take  all  this  trouble  for  nothing  ?" 

His  face  was  purple  with  sudden  rage.  His  eyes  were  fierce, 
and  he  roared  and  bawled  at  me.  AVhy,  what  had  I  said  ?  How 
had  I  angered  him  ? 

"  Benjamin,"  I  cried,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  How  have  I  an- 
gered you  f ' 

"  Go  back,"  he  roared  again.  "  Tell  her  that  if  I  presently 
come  and  find  thee  still  in  ignorance  'twill  be  the  worse  for  all. 
Tell  her  that  I  say  it ;  'twill  else  be  worse  for  all." 


224  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    SLIGHT    THING    AT    THE    BEST. 

So  I  left  Benjamin  miicli  frightened,  and  marvelling  both  at 
his  violent  passion  and  at  the  message  which  he  sent  to  madam. 

She  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  lodging. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  Benjamin.  He  is  very  angry. 
lie  bade  me  go  home  and  ask  you  concerning  his  conditions. 
We  must  not  anger  our  best  friend,  dear  madam." 

She  rose  from  her  chair  and  began  to  walk  about,  wringing 
her  hands,  as  if  torn  by  some  violent  emotion. 

"  Oh,  my  child  !"  she  cried  ;  "  Grace,  come  to  my  arms — if  it 
is  for  the  last  time — my  daughter  !  More  than  ever  mine,  though 
I  must  never  call  thee  daughter."  She  held  me  in  her  arms, 
kissing  me  tenderly.  "  My  dear,  we  agreed  that  no  sacrifice  is 
too  great  for  the  safety  of  our  boy.  Yes,  we  agreed  to  that. 
Let  us  kiss  each  other  before  we  do  a  thing  after  which  we  can 
never  kiss  each  other  again.     No,  never  again." 

"  Why  not  again,  madam  ?" 

"  Oh  !" — she  pushed  me  from  her — "  it  is  now  eight  of  the 
clock.  He  will  be  here  at  ten.  I  promised  I  would  tell  thee  be- 
fore he  came.     And  all  is  in  readiness." 

"  For  what,  madam  ?" 

Why,  even  then  I  guessed  not  her  meaning,  though  I  might 
have  done  so ;  but  I  never  thought  that  so  great  a  wickedness 
was  possible. 

"  No  sacrifice  should  be  too  great  for  us,"  she  cried,  clasping 
her  head  with  her  hands,  and  looking  wildly  about ;  "  none  too 
great.  Not  even  the  sacrifice  of  my  own  son's  love ;  no,  not 
that.  Why,  let  us  think  of  the  sacrifices  men  make  for  their 
country,  for  their  religion,  Abraham  was  ready  to  offer  his 
son  Isaac ;  Jephthah  sacrificed  his  daughter ;  King  Mesha  slew 
his  eldest  son  for  a  burnt-offering.  Thousands  of  men  die  every 
year  in  battle  for  their  country.     What  have  we  to  offer?     If 


FOll    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  225 

wc  i^ivc  ourselves  it  is  but  a,  slight  thing  that  we  olTcr,  at  the 
best" 

"  Surely,  madam,"  I  cried,  "  you  know  that  we  would  willingly 
die  for  the  sake  of  Robin." 

"  Yes,  child,  to  die — to  die  were  nothing.  It  is  to  live — we 
must  live  for  Robin." 

"  I  understand  not,  madam." 

"  Listen,  then,  for  the  time  presses ;  and  if  he  arrive  and  lin<l 
that  I  have  not  broken  the  thing  to  thee  he  will  perhaps  ride  back 
to  Exeter  in  a  rage.  When  I  left  my  son,  after  the  trial,  being 
very  wretched  and  without  hope,  I  found  Benjamin  waiting  for 
me  at  the  prison  gates.  He  walked  with  me  to  my  lodging,  and 
on  the  way  he  talked  of  what  was  in  my  mind.  First  he  said 
that,  for  the  better  sort,  there  was  little  hope,  seeing  that  the 
king  was  revengeful  and  the  judge  most  wrathful,  and  in  a  mood 
which  allowed  of  no  mercy.  Therefore  it  would  be  best  to  dis- 
miss all  hopes  of  pardon  or  of  safety  either  to  these  two  or  to 
the  jjrisoners  of  Ilminster.  Now,  when  he  had  said  this  a  great 
many  times,  we  being  now  arrived  at  my  lodging,  he  told  me 
that  there  was,  in  my  case,  a  way  out  of  the  trouble,  and  one 
way  only ;  that  if  we  consented  to  follow  that  way,  which,  he 
said,  would  do  no  manner  of  harm  to  either  of  us  or  to  our  pris- 
oners, he  would  undertake,  and  faithfully  engage  to  secure,  the 
safety  of  all  our  prisoners.  I  prayed  him  to  point  out  this  way, 
and  after  much  entreaty  he  consented." 

"  What  is  the  way  ?"  I  asked,  having  not  the  least  suspicion. 
And  yet  the  look  in  her  eyes  should  have  told  me  what  was 
coming. 

"  Is  it  true,  child,  that  long  ago  you  were  betrothed  to  Ben- 
jamin ?" 

"  No,  madam.     That  is  most  untrue." 

"  He  says  that,  when  you  were  quite  a  little  child,  he  informed 
you  of  his  intention  to  marry  you,  and  none  but  you." 

"  AVhy,  that  is  true,  indeed."  And  now  I  began  to  under- 
stand the  way  that  was  proposed,  and  my  heart  sank  within  me. 
"  That  is  true.  But  to  tell  a  child  such  a  thing  is  not  a  be- 
trothal." 

"  He  says  that  only  three  or  four  years  ago  he  renewed  that 
assurance." 

"  So  he  did,  but  I  gave  him  no  manner  of  encouragement." 
10*  P 


226  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  He  says  that  he  promised-  to  return  and  marry  you  when  he 
had  arrived  at  some  practice,  and  that  he  engaged  to  become 
lord  chancellor,  and  make  you  a  peeress  of  the  realm." 

"  All  that  he  said,  and  more,  yet  did  I  never  give  him  the 
least  encouragement,  but  quite  the  contrary,  for  always  have  I 
feared  and  disliked  Benjamin.  Never  at  any  time  was  it  possi- 
ble for  me  to  think  of  him  in  that  way.  That  he  knows,  and 
cannot  pretend  otherwise.  Madam,  doth  Benjamin  wish  evil  to 
Robin  because  I  am  betrothed  to  him  ?" 

"  He  also  says,  in  his  rude  way — Benjamin  was  always  a  rude 
and  coarse  boy — that  he  had  warned  you  long  ago  that  if  any 
one  else  came  in  his  way  he  would  break  the  head  of  that  man." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  that  he  threatened  some  violence." 

"Mv  dear" — madam  took  my  hand — "his  time  of  revenge  is 
come.  He  says  that  he  has  the  life  of  the  man  whom  you  love 
in  his  own  hands,  and  he  will,  he  swears,  break  his  head  for 
him,  and  so  keep  the  promise  made  to  you  by  tying  the  rope 
round  his  neck.  My  dear,  Benjamin  has  always  been  stubborn 
and  obstinate  from  his  birth.  Stubborn  and  obstinate  was  he  as 
a  boy ;  stubborn  and  obstinate  is  he  now ;  he  cares  for  nobody 
in  the  world  except  himself ;  lie  has  no  heart,  he  has  no  ten- 
derness, he  has  no  scruples ;  if  he  wants  a  thing  he  will  tram- 
ple on  all  the  world  to  get  it,  and  break  all  the  laws  of  God.  I 
know  what  manner  of  life  he  leads.  He  is  the  friend  and  com- 
panion of  the  dreadful  judge  who  goeth  about  like  a  raging  lion. 
Every  night  do  they  drink  together  until  they  are  speechless, 
and  cannot  stand.  Their  delight  it  is  to  drink  and  smoke  to- 
bacco, with  unseemly  jests  and  ribald  songs  which  would  dis- 
grace the  play-house  or  the  country  fair.  Oh,  'tis  the  life  of  a 
hog  that  he  delights  in.  Yet  for  all  that  he  is,  like  his  noble 
friend,  full  of  ambition.  Nothing  will  do  but  he  must  rise  in 
the  world.     Therefore  he  works  hard  at  his  profession,  and — " 

"  Madam,  the  condition — what  is  the  condition  ?  For  Heav- 
en's sake,  tell  me  quickly.  Is  it — is  it — oh,  no,  no,  no  !  Any- 
thing but  that." 

"  My  child  !  my  daughter  !" — she  laid  her  hand  upon  my  head 
— "  it  is  that  condition  ;  that,  and  none  other.  Oh,  my  dear,  it  is 
laid  upon  thee  to  save  us ;  it  is  to  be  thy  work  alone ;  and  by 
such  a  sacrifice  as,  I  think,  no  woman  ever  yet  had  to  make. 
Nay,  perhaps  it  is  better  not  to  make  it,  after  all.     Let  all  die 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  227 

together,  and  let  us  live  out  our  allotted  lives  in  sorrow.  I 
thought  of  it  all  night,  and  it  seemed  better  so ;  better  even 
that  thou  wert  lying  in  thy  grave.  His  condition  !  Oh,  he  must 
be  a  devil  thus  to  barter  for  the  lives  of  his  grandfather  and  his 
cousins ;  no  human  being,  surely,  would  do  such  a  thing.  The 
condition,  my  dear,  is,  that  thou  must  marry  him,  now,  this  very 
morning  ;  and,  this  once  done,  he  will  at  once  take  such  steps — 
I  know  not  what  they  may  be,  but  I  take  it  that  his  friend,  the 
judge,  will  grant  him  the  favor — such  steps,  I  say,  as  will  release 
unto  us  all  our  prisoners." 

At  first  I  made  no  answer. 

"  If  not,"  she  added,  after  a  while,  "  they  shall  all  be  surely 
hanged." 

I  remained  silent.  It  is  not  easy,  at  such  a  moment,  to  col- 
lect one's  thoughts  and  understand  what  things  mean.  I  asked 
her,  presently,  if  there  was  no  other  way. 

"  None,"  she  said ;  there  was  no  other  way. 

»  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?"  I  asked.  "  God,  it  seems, 
hath  granted  my  daily  prayer.     But  how  ?     Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Think  of  what  thou  hast  in  thy  power." 

"  But  to  marry  him  ;  to  marry  Benjamin.  Oh,  to  marry  him  ! 
How  should  I  live  ?     How  should  I  look  the  world  in  the  face  ?" 

"  My  dear,  there  are  many  other  unhappy  wives.  There  are 
other  husbands  brutal  and  selfish ;  there  are  other  men  as  wick- 
ed as  ray  nephew.  Thou  wilt  swear  in  church  to  love,  honor, 
and  obey  him.  Thy  love  is  already  hate  ;  thy  honor  is  contempt ; 
thy  obedience  will  be  the  obedience  of  a  slave.  Yet  death  com- 
eth  at  length,  even  to  a  slave  and  to  the  harsh  taskmaster." 

"  Oh,  madam,  miserable  indeed  is  the  lot  of  those  whose  only 
friend  is  death." 

She  was  silent,  leaving  me  to  think  of  this  terrible  condition. 

"  What  would  Robin  say  ?  What  would  Humphrey  say  ? 
Nay,  what  would  his  honor  himself  say  ?" 

"Why,  child,"  she  replied,  with  a  kind  of  laugh,  "it  needs 
not  a  wizard  to  tell  what  they  would  say.  For  one  and  all,  they 
would  rather  go  to  the  gallows  than  buy  their  lives  at  such  a 
price.  Thy  brother  Barnaby  would  mount  the  ladder  with  a 
cheerful  heart  rather  than  sell  his  sister  to  buy  his  life.  That 
we  know  already.  Nay,  we  know  more.  For  Robin  will  never 
forgive  his  mother  who  suffered  thee  to  do  such  a  thing.     So 


228  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

shall  I  lose  wliat  I  value  more  than  life — the  love  of  my  only 
son.  Yet  would  I  buy  his  life  at  such  a  price.  My  dear,  if  you 
love  your  lover  I  lose  my  son.  Yet  we  will  save  him  whether 
he  will  or  no."  She  took  my  hands  and  pressed  them  in  her 
own.  "  My  dear,  it  will  be  worse  for  me  than  for  you.  You 
will  have  a  husband,  it  is  true,  whom  you  will  loathe ;  yet  you 
will  not  see  him,  perhaps,  for  half  the  day  at  least,  and  perhaps 
he  will  leave  thee  to  thyself  for  the  other  half.  But  for  me,  I 
shall  have  to  endure  the  loss  of  my  son's  affections  all  my  life, 
because  I  am  very  sure  and  certain  that  he  can  never  forgive 
me.  Think,  my  dear.  Shall  they  all  die — all ;  think  of  father 
and  brother  and  of  your  mother  ;  or  will  you  willingly  endure  a 
life  of  misery  with  this  man  for  husband  in  order  that  they  may 
live?" 

"  Oh,  madam,"  I  said,  "  as  for  the  misery,  any  other  kind 
of  misery  I  would  Avillingly  endure ;  but  it  is  marriage — mar- 
riage.    Yet  who  am  I  that  I  should  choose  my  sacrifice  ?     Oh, 
if  good  works  were  of  any  avail,  then  would  the  way  to  heaven 
be  opened  wide  for  me  by  such  an  act  and  such  a  life.     Oh, 
what  will  Robin  say  of  me  ?     What  will  he  think  of  me  ?     Will 
he  curse  me  and  loathe  me  for  being  able  to  do  this  thing? 
Should  I  do  it  ?     Is  it  right  ?     Doth  God  command  it  ?     Yet  to 
save  their  dear  lives ;  only  to  set  them  free ;  to  send  that  good 
old  man  back  to  his  home ;  to  suffer  my  father  to  die  in  peace. 
I  must  do  it — I  must  do  it.    Yet  Robin  could  never  forgive  me. 
Oh,  he  told  me  that  betrothal  was  a  sacrament.      I  have  sworn 
to  be  his.     Yet  to  save  his  life — I  cannot  hesitate.     If  it  is 
wrong,  I  pray  that  Robin  will  forgive  me.     Tell  him  that — oh, 
tell  him  that  it  is  I  who  am  to  die,  instead  of  him.     Perhaps 
God  will  suffer  me  to  die  quickly.     Tell  him  that  I  loved  him 
and  only  him ;  that  I  would  rather  have  died ;  that  for  his  life 
alone  I  would  not  have  done  this  thing  because  he  would  not 
have  suffered  it.     But  it  is  for  all— it  is  for  all.     Oh,  he  must 
forgive  me.     Some  day  you  will  send  me  a  message  of  forgive- 
ness from  him.     But  I  must  go  away  and  live  in  London  far 
from  all  of  you,  never  to  see  him  or  any  one  of  you  again,  not 
even  my  own  mother.     It  is  too  shameful  a  thing  to  do.     And 
you  will  tell  his  honor,  who  hath  always  loved  me,  and  would 
willingly  have  called  me  his  granddaughter.     It  was  not  that  I 
loved  not  Robin — God  knoweth  that— but  for  all — for  him  and 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  229 

Robin  and  all — to  save  liis  gray  hairs  from  the  gallows,  and  to 
send  him  back  to  his  home.     Oh,  tell  him  that — " 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  replied,  but  could  say  no  more. 

Then  for  a  while  we  sat  in  silence  with  beating  hearts. 

"  I  am  to  purchase  the  lives  of  five  honest  men,"  I  said,  pres- 
ently, "  by  my  own  dishonor.  I  know  very  well  that  it  is  by 
my  dishonor  and  my  sin  that  their  lives  are  to  be  bought.  It 
doth  not  save  me  from  dislionor  that  I  am  first  to  stand  in  the 
church  and  be  married  according  to  the  Prayer  Book.  Nay, 
does  it  not  make  the  sin  greater  and  the  dishonor  more  certain, 
that  I  shall  first  swear  what  I  cannot  ever  perform,  to  love  and 
honor  that  man  V 

"  Yes,  girl,  yes,"  said  madam ;  "  but  the  sin  is  mine  more 
than  yours.     Oh,  let  me  bear  the  sin  upon  myself." 

"  You  cannot ;  it  is  my  sin  and  my  dishonor.  Nay,  it  is  a 
most  dreadful  wicked  thing  that  I  am  to  do.  It  is  all  the  sins 
in  one.  I  do  not  honor  my  parents  in  thus  dishonoring  myself ; 
I  kill  myself — the  woman  that  my  Robin  loved.  I  steal  the 
outward  form  which  belonged  to  Robin  and  give  it  to  another. 
I  live  in  a  kind  of  adultery.  It  is  truly  a  terrible  sin  in  the 
sight  of  Heaven.  Yet  I  will  do  it.  I  must  do  it.  I  love  him 
so  that  I  cannot  let  liim  die.  Rather  let  me  be  overwhelmed 
with  shame  and  reproach  if  only  he  can  live  1" 

"  Said  I  not,  my  dear,  that  we  two  could  never  kiss  each  other 
again  ?  When  two  men  have  conspired  together  to  commit  a 
crime  they  consort  no  more  together,  it  is  said,  but  go  apart  and 
loathe  each  other.     So  it  is  now  with  us." 

So  I  promised  to  do  this  thing.  The  temptation  was  beyond 
my  strength.  Yet  had  I  possessed  more  faith  I  should  have 
refused.  And  then  great  indeed  would  have  been  my  reward. 
Alas  !  How  was  I  punished  for  my  want  of  faith !  Well,  it 
was  to  save  ray  lover.  Love  makes  us  strong  for  evil  as  well  as 
strong  for  good. 

And  all  the  time  to  think  that  we  never  inquired  or  proved 
his  promises !  To  think  that  we  never  thought  of  doubting  or 
of  asking  how  he,  a  young  barrister,  should  be  able  to  save  the 
lives  of  four  active  rebels,  and  one  w^ho  had  been  zealous  in  the 
cause  ?  That  two  women  should  have  been  so  simple  is  now 
astonishing. 

When  the  clock  struck  ten  I  saw  Benjamin  walking  across 


230  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

the  churcliyard.  It  was  part  of  the  brutal  jiature  of  the  man 
that  he  should  walk  upon  the  graves,  even  those  newly  made 
and  not  covered  up  with  turf,  lie  swung  his  great  burly  form, 
and  looked  up  at  the  window  with  a  grin  which  made  madam 
tremble  and  shrink  back.  But  for  me  I  was  not  moved  by  the 
sight  of  him,  for  now  I  was  strong  in  resolution.  Suppose  one 
who  hath  made  up  her  mind  to  go  to  the  stake  for  her  religion, 
as  would  doubtless  have  happened  unto  many  had  King  James 
been  allowed  to  continue  in  his  course,  do  you  think  that  such 
a  woman  would  begin  to  tremble  at  the  sight  of  her  executioner  ? 
Not  so.  She  would  arise  and  go  forth  to  meet  him  with  pale 
face,  perhaps  (because  the  agony  is  sharp),  but  with  a  steady 
eye.  Benjamin  opened  the  door  and  stood  looking  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  madam,  roughly,  "  you  have  by  this  time 
told  her  the  condition." 

"  I  have  told  her.  Alas  !  I  have  told  her,  and  already  I  re- 
pent me  that  I  have  told  her." 

"  Doth  she  consent  ?" 

"  She  does.     It  shall  be  as  you  desire." 

"  Ha !"  Benjamin  drew  a  long  breath,  "  Said  I  not,  sweet- 
heart," he  turned  to  me,  "  that  I  would  break  the  head  of  any 
who  came  between  us  ?  What !  Have  I  not  broken  the  head 
of  my  cousin  when  I  take  away  his  girl  ?  Very  well,  then.  And 
that  to  good  purpose.  Very  well,  then.  It  remains  to  carry  out 
the  condition." 

"  The  condition,"  I  said,  "  I  understand  to  be  this.  If  I  be- 
come your  wife,  Benjamin,  you  knowing  full  well  that  I  love  an- 
other man,  and  am  already  promised  to  him — " 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta,"  he  said.  "  That  you  are  promised  to  another 
man  matters  not  one  straw.  That  you  love  another  man  I  care 
nothing.  What  ?  I  promise,  sweetheart,  that  I  will  soon  make 
thee  forget  that  other  man.  And  as  for  loving  any  other  man 
after  marrying  me,  that,  d'ye  see,  my  pretty,  will  be  impossible. 
Oh,  thou  shalt  be  the  fondest  wife  in  the  Three  Kingdoms." 

"  Nay,  if  such  a  thing  cannot  move  your  heart,  I  say  no  more. 
If  I  marry  you,  then  all  our  prisoners  will  be  enlarged  ?" 

"  I  swear  " — he  used  a  great  round  oath,  very  horrid  from  the 
lips  of  a  Christian  man — "  I  swear  that  if  you  marry  me,  the 
three,  Robin,  Humphrey,  and  Barnaby  shall  all  save  their  lives. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  231 

And  as  for  Sir  Christopher  and  your  father,  they  also  shall  be 
enlarged.     Can  I  say  aught  in  addition  V 

I  suspected  no  deceit.  I  understood,  and  so  did  madam,  that 
this  promise  meant  the  full  and  free  forgiveness  of  all.  Yet 
there  was  something  of  mockery  in  his  eyes  which  should  have 
made  us  suspicious  ;  but  I,  for  one,  was  young  and  ignorant,  and 
madam  was  country-bred  and  truthful. 

"  Benjamin,"  I  cried,  falling  on  my  knees  before  him,  "  think 
what  it  is  you  ask !  think  what  a  wicked  thing  you  would  have 
me  do  !  To  break  my  vows,  who  am  promised  to  your  cousin  ! 
and  would  you  leave  your  grandfather  to  perish  all  for  a  whim 
about  a  silly  girl  ?  Benjamin,  you  are  playing  with  us.  You 
cannot,  you  could  not  sell  the  lives  —  the  very  lives  of  your 
motlier,  father,  and  your  cousins  for  such  a  price  as  this  !  The 
play  has  gone  far  enough,  Benjamin.  Tell  us  that  it  is  over, 
and  that  you  never  meant  to  be  taken  seriously.  And  wc  will 
forgive  you  the  anguish  you  have  caused  us." 

"  Get  up,"  he  said,  "  get  up,  I  say,  and  stop  this  folly."  lie 
then  began  to  curse  and  to  swear.  "  Playing,  is  it  I  You  shall 
quickly  discover  that  it  is  no  play,  but  serious  enough  to  please 
you  all,  Puritans  though  you  be.  Playing  ?  Get  up,  I  say,  and 
have  done." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  there  is  not  in  the  whole  world  a  more  in- 
human monster  than  yourself." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  do  not  anger  him,"  cried  madam. 

"  All  is  fair  in  love,  my  pretty,"  said  Benjamin,  with  a  grin. 
"  Before  marriage  call  me  what  you  please — inhuman  monster 
— anything  that  you  please.  After  marriage  my  wife  will  have 
to  sing  a  different  tune." 

"  Oh,  Benjamin,  treat  her  kindly,"  madam  cried. 

"  I  mean  not  otherwise.  Kindness  is  my  nature  ;  I  am  too 
kind  for  my  own  interests.  Obedience  I  expect,  and  good  tem- 
per and  a  civil  tongue,  with  such  respect  as  is  due  to  one  who 
intends  to  be  lord  chancellor.  Come,  child,  no  more  hard  words. 
Thou  shalt  be  the  happiest  woman,  I  say,  in  the  world.  What  ? 
Monmouth's  rebellion  was  only  contrived  to  make  thy  happi- 
ness. Instead  of  a  dull  country-house  thou  shalt  have  a  house 
in  London ;  instead  of  the  meadows  thou  shalt  have  the  parks ; 
instead  of  skylarks,  the  singers  at  the  play-house  ;  in  due  course 
thou  shalt  be  my  lady — " 


232  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Oh,  stop,  stop  !  I  must  marry  you  since  you  make  me,  but 
the  partner  in  your  ambitions  will  I  never  be." 

"  My  dear,"  madam  whispered,  "  speak  him  fair.  Be  humble 
to  him.     Remember  he  holds  in  his  hand  the  lives  of  all." 

"  Yes  " — Benjamin  overheard  her — "  the  lives  of  all.  The 
man  who  dares  to  take  my  girl  from  me — mine — deserves  to 
die.  Yet  so  clement,  so  forgiving,  so  generous  am  I,  that  I  am 
ready  to  pardon  him.  lie  shall  actually  save  his  life.  If,  there- 
fore, it  is  true  that  (before  marriage)  you  love  that  man  and  are 
promised  to  him,  come  to  church  with  me  out  of  your  great 
love  to  him  in  order  to  save  his  life.  But  if  you  love  him  not, 
then  you  can  love  me,  and  therefore  can  come  to  please  your- 
self. Willy-nilly — what  ?  am  I  to  be  tliwarted  in  such  a  ti-iHe  ? 
Willy-nilly,  I  say,  I  will  marry  thee.     Come,  wc  waste  the  time." 

He  seized  my  wrist  as  if  he  would  have  dragged  me  towards 
the  door. 

"  Benjamin,"  cried  madam,  "  be  merciful.  She  is  but  a  girl, 
and  she  loves  my  poor  boy.  Be  merciful.  Oh,  it  is  not  yet 
too  late."  She  snatched  me  from  his  grasp  and  stood  be- 
tween us — her  arms  outstretched.  "  It  is  not  too  late.  They 
may  die  and  we  will  go  in  sorrow,  but  not  in  shame.  They  may 
die.  Go,  murderer  of  thy  kith  and  kin.  Go,  send  thy  grand- 
father to  die  upon  the  scaffold,  but  at  least  leave  us  in  peace." 

"  No,  madam,"  I  said.  "  With  your  permission,  if  there  be 
no  other  way,  I  will  save  their  lives." 

"  Well,  then,"  Benjamin  said,  sulkily,  "  there  must  be  an  end 
of  this  talk  and  no  further  delay.  Else,  by  the  Lord,  I  know 
not  what  may  happen.  Will  Tom  Boilman  delay  to  prepare  his 
caldron  of  hot  pitch  ?  If  we  Avait  mucli  longer  Robin's  arms 
and  legs  will  be  seething  in  that  broth.  Doth  the  judge  delay 
with  his  warrant  ?  Already  he  signs  it.  Already  they  are  put- 
ting up  the  gibbet  on  which  he  will  hang.     Come,  I  say." 

Benjamin  was  sure  of  his  prey,  I  suppose,  because  we  found 
the  clergyman  waiting  for  us  in  the  church,  ready  with  surplice 
and  book.  The  clerk  was  standing  beside  him,  also  with  his 
book,  open  at  the  service  for  marriage.  While  they  read  the 
service  madam  threw  herself  prostrate  on  the  communion  steps, 
her  head  in  her  hands,  as  one  who  suffers  the  last  extremities 
of  remorse  and  despair  for  sin  too  grievous  to  be  ever  forgiven. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  233 

Let  US  hope  that  sometimes  we  may  judge  ourselves  more  harshly 
than  Heaven  itself  doth  judge  us. 

The  clerk  gave  me  away,  and  was  the  only  vritness  of  the 
marriage  besides  that  poor  distracted  mother. 

'Twas  a  strange  wedding.  There  had  been  no  banns  put  up ; 
the  bride  was  pale  and  trembling ;  the  bridegroom  was  gloomy  ; 
the  only  other  person  present  wept  upon  her  knees,  while  the 
parson  read  through  his  ordered  prayer  and  psalm  and  exhor- 
tation ;  there  was  no  sign  of  rejoicing. 

"  So,"  said  Benjamin,  when  all  was  over.  "  Now,  thou  art 
my  wife.  They  shall  not  be  hanged  therefore.  Come,  wife,  we 
will  this  day  ride  to  Exeter,  where  thou  shalt  thyself  bear  the 
joyful  news  of  thy  marriage  and  their  safety  to  my  cousins. 
They  will  own  that  I  am  a  loving  and  a  careful  cousin." 

He  led  me,  thus  talking,  out  of  church.  Now,  as  we  left  the 
churchyard  there  passed  through  the  gates — oh,  baleful  omen  ! — 
four  men  carrying  between  them  a  bier ;  upon  it  was  the  body 
of  another  poor  prisoner  dead  of  jail  fever.  I  think  that  even 
the  hard  heart  of  Benjamin — now  my  husband  !  oh,  merciful 
Heavens,  he  w\as  my  husband  ! — quailed,  and  was  touched  with 
fear  at  meeting  this  most  sure  and  certain  sign  of  coming  woe, 
for  he  muttered  something  in  his  teeth,  and  cursed  the  bearers 
aloud  for  not  choosing  another  time. 

My  husband  then — I  must  needs  call  him  my  husband — told 
me  brutally  that  I  must  ride  with  him  to  Exeter,  where  I  should 
myself  bear  the  joyful  news  of  their  safety  to  his  cousins.  I 
did  not  take  that  journey,  nor  did  I  bear  the  news,  nor  did  I 
ever  after  that  moment  set  eyes  upon  him  again ;  nor  did  I  ever 
speak  to  him  again.  His  wife  I  remained,  I  suppose,  because 
I  was  joined  to  him  in  church.  But  I  never  saw  him  after  that  , 
morning,  and  the  reason  why  you  shall  now  hear. 

At  the  door  of  our  lodging,  which  was,  you  know,  hard  by  the 
church,  stood  Mr.  Boscorel  himself. 

"  What  means  this  ?"  he  asked,  with  looks  troubled  and  con- 
fused. "  What  doth  it  mean,  Benjamin  ?  What  hath  happened, 
in  the  name  of  God  V 

"Sir,"  said  Benjamin,  "you  know  my  character.  You  will 
acknowledge  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  are  easily  turned 
from  their  purpose.  Truly,  the  occasion  is  not  favorable  for  a 
wedding,  but  yet  I  present  to  you  my  newly-married  wife." 


234  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Thy  wife,  child  !  he  thy  liusband  ?  Why,  thou  art  betrothed 
to  Itobiu  !  Ilath  the  v>'orld  gone  crazy  ?  Do  I  hear  aright  ?  Is 
this — this — this — a  time  to  be  marrying  ?  Hast  thou  not  heard  ? 
— hast  thou  not  heard,  I  say  ?" 

"  Brother-in-law,"  said  madam,  "  it  is  to  save  the  lives  of  all 
that  this  is  done." 

"  To  save  the  lives  of  all  ?"  Mr.  Boscorel  repeated.  "  Why — 
why — hath  not  Benjamin,  then,  told  what  hath  happened,  and 
what  hath  been  done  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  have  not,"  said  his  son ;  "  I  had  other  fish  to 
fry." 

"  Not  told  them  ?    Is  it  possible  ?" 

"  Benjamin  hath  promised  to  save  all  their  lives  if  this  child 
would  marry  him.  To  save  their  lives  hath  Grace  consented, 
and  I  with  her.  He  will  save  them  through  his  great  friend- 
ship with  Judge  Jeffreys." 

"  Benjamin  to  save  their  lives  !  Sirrah,"  he  turned  to  his 
son  with  great  wrath  in  his  face,  "  what  villainy  is  this  ?  Thou 
hast  promised  to  save  their  lives  ?  What  villainy,  I  say,  is  this  ? 
Sister-in-law,  did  he  not  tell  you  what  hath  been  done  ?" 

"  He  has  told  us  nothing.     Oh,  is  there  new  misery  ?" 

"  Child  " — Mr.  Boscorel  spoke  with  the  tears  running  down 
his  cheeks — "  thou  iirt  betrayed,  alas  !  most  cruelly  and  foully 
betrayed.  My  son — would  to  God  that  I  had  died  before  that 
I  should  say  so ! — is  a  villain.  For,  first,  the  lives  of  these  young 
men  are  already  saved,  and  he  hath  known  it  for  a  week  and 
more.  Learn,  theu,  that  with  the  help  of  certain  friends  I  have 
used  such  interest  at  court  that  for  these  three  I  have  received 
the  promise  of  safety.  Yet  they  will  not  be  pardoned.  They 
are  given,  among  other  prisoners,  to  the  courtiers  and  the  ladies- 
in-waiting.  One  Mr.  Jerome  Nipho  hath  received  and  entered 
on  his  list  the  names  of  Robin  and  Humphrey  Challis  and 
Barnaby  Eykin ;  they  will  be  sold  by  him,  and  transported  to 
Jamaica,  or  elsewhere,  for  a  term  of  years." 

"  They  were  already  saved  !"  cried  madam.  "  He  knew,  then, 
when  they  were  tried  and  sentenced  that  their  lives  were  al- 
ready spared  ?  Oh,  child  !  poor  child  !  oh,  Grace  !  oh,  my  daugh- 
ter !  what  misery  have  we  brought  upon  thee  !" 

Benjamin  said  nothing.  On  his  face  lay  a  sullen  scowl  of 
obstinacy.     As  for  me,  I  was  clinging  to  madam's  arm.     This 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  235 

man  was  my  husband,  and  Robin  v/as  already  saved ;  and  by 
lies  and  villainy  lie  had  cheated  us. 

"  They  were  already  saved,"  Mr.  Boscorel  continued.  "  Ben- 
jamin knew  it.  I  sent  him  a  letter  that  he  might  tell  his  cous- 
ins. My  son — alas  !  I  say  again — my  only  son — my  only  son — 
my  son  is  a  villain  !" 

"  No  one  shall  take  my  girl,"  said  Benjamin.  "  What  ?  All 
is  fair  in  love." 

"  He  has  not  told  you  eitlier  what  hath  happened  in  the 
prison  ?  Thou  hadst  speech  I  hear  with  Barnaby,  early  this 
morning,  child?  The  other  prisoners" — he  lowered  his  voice, 
and  folded  his  hands,  as  in  prayer — "  they  have  since  been 
enlarged." 

"  How  ?"  madam  asked  ;  "  is  Sir  Christopher  free  ?" 

"  He  hath  received  his  freedom  from  One  who  never  fails  to 
set  poor  prisoners  free.  My  father-in-law  fell  dead  in  the  court- 
yard at  nine  o'clock  this  morning  ;  weep  not  for  him.  But, 
child,  there  is  much  more ;  about  that  same  time  thy  father 
breathed  his  last.  He,  too,  is  dead.  He,  too,  hath  his  freedom. 
Benjamin  knew  of  this  as  well,  Alice,  my  child ;"  the  kindly 
tears  of  compassion  rolled  down  his  face.  "  I  have  loved  thee 
always,  my  dear ;  and  it  is  my  son  wlio  hath  wrought  this  wick- 
edness— my  own  son — my  only  son — "  He  shook  his  cane  in 
Benjamin's  face.     "  Oh,  villain  !"  he  cried,  "  oh,  villain !" 

Benjamin  made  no  reply.  But  his  face  was  black  and  his 
eyes  obstinate. 

"  There  is  yet  more — oh,  there  is  more.  Thou  hast  lost  thy 
mother  as  well,  for  at  the  sight  of  her  husband's  death  his  poor 
patient  wife  could  no  longer  bear  the  trouble,  but  she,  too,  fell 
dead  of  a  broken  heart ;  yea,  she  fell  dead  upon  his  dead  body — 
the  Lord  showed  her  this  great  and  crowning  mercy,  so  that 
they  all  died  together.  This,  too,  Benjamin  knew.  Oh,  villain ! 
villain !" 

Benjamin  heard  unmoved,  except  that  liis  scowl  grew  blacker. 

"  Go !"  his  father  continued  ;  "  I  load  thee  not,  my  son,  with 
a  father's  curse.  Thy  wickedness  is  so  great  that  thy  punish- 
ment will  be  exemplary.  The  judgments  of  God  descend  upon 
the  most  hardened.  Get  thee  gone  out  of  my  sight !  Let  me 
never  more  behold  thee  until  thou  hast  felt  the  intolerable  pain 
of  remorse.     Get  thee  hence,  I  say  !    Begone  !" 


236  FOK  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  I  go  not,"  said  Benjamin,  "  without  my  loving  wife.  I  budge 
not,  I  say,  without  my  tender  and  loving  wife.     Come,  my  dear." 

He  advanced  with  outstretched  hands,  but  I  broke  away  and 
fled,  shrieking.  As  I  ran,  Mr.  Boscorel  stood  before  his  son 
and  barred  the  way,  raising  his  right  hand. 

"  Back,  boy — back  !"  he  said,  solemnly.  "  Back,  I  say  ;  be- 
fore thou  reach  thy  most  unhappy  wife,  thou  must  first  pass 
over  thy  father's  body." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    VISION    OF    CONSOLATION. 


I  RAN  SO  fast,  being  then  young  and  strong,  that  Benjamin, 
I  am  sure,  could  not  have  overtaken  me  had  he  tried,  because 
he  was  already  gross  of  body  and  short  of  breath  in  conse- 
quence of  his  tippling.  I  have  since  heard  that  he  did  not  fol- 
low me,  nor  did  he  dare  to  push  aside  his  father.  But  he 
laughed,  and  said,  "  Let  her  run ;  let  her  run.  I  warrant  I 
shall  fiud  her  and  bring  her  back,"  thinking,  I  suppose,  that 
I  had  run  from  him  as  a  girl  in  play  runs  from  her  companions. 
I  ran  also  so  long,  fear  lending  me  strength,  that  the  sun  was 
getting  even  into  the  afternoon  before  I  ventured  to  stop.  I 
looked  round  from  time  to  time,  but  saw  no  one  following  me. 
I  do  not  remember  by  what  road,  track,  or  path  I  went ;  past- 
ure-fields and  plantations,  I  remember ;  twice  I  crossed  a  stream 
on  stepping-stones ;  once  I  saw  before  me  a  village  with  a 
church  tower,  but  this  I  avoided  for  fear  of  the  people.  When 
I  ventured  to  stop  I  was  in  a  truly  wild  and  desolate  country — 
our  county  of  Somerset  hath  in  it  many  such  wild  places  given 
over  to  forests,  fern,  and  heather.  Presently  I  remembered 
the  place,  though  one  forest  is  much  like  another,  and  I  knew 
that  I  had  been  in  this  place  before,  on  that  day  when  we  rode 
from  Lyme  to  Taunton,  and  again  on  the  day  when  we  walked 
prisoners  with  the  soldiers  to  Ilminster.  I  was  on  the  Black 
Down  hill  again. 

When,  therefore,  I  understood  where  I  was,  I  began  to  re- 
cover a  little  from  the  first  horror  which  had  driven  me  to  fly 
like  one  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit,  and  seeing  that  no  one  was 


'As  Iran,  Mr.  Boscorel  stood  before  Ms  son  and  ba/rred  tJie  way,  raising  his 
right  hand." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  237 

in  pursuit,  I  began  to  collect  my  senses,  and  to  ask  myself 
whither  I  was  going  and  what  I  should  do.  I  was  then  in  that 
ancient  enclosure  called  Castle  Ratch,  from  whose  walls  one 
looks  down  ui)on  the  broad  vale  of  Taunton  Dean.  In  the 
distance  I  thought  I  could  discern  the  great  tower  of  St.  Mary's 
Church,  but  perhaps  that  was  only  my  imagination.  I  sat  down 
upon  the  turf  under  these  ancient  walls,  and  set  myself  to  con- 
sider my  condition,  which  was  indeed  forlorn. 

First,  I  liad  no  friends  or  protectors  left  in  the  whole  world, 
because  after  what  I  had  done  I  could  never  look  upon  Robin, 
or  even  Humphrey  again ;  nor  could  I  importune  madam,  be- 
cause she  would  not  anger  her  son  (I  represented  him  in  my 
mind  as  most  unforgiving) ;  nor  could  I  seek  the  help  of  Mr. 
Boscorel,  because  that  now  might  help  his  son  to  find  me  out, 
and  everybody  knows  that  a  husband  may  command  the  obedi- 
ence of  his  wife.  And  Sir  Christopher  was  dead,  and  my  father 
was  dead,  and  my  mother  was  dead,  and  I  could  not  even 
weep  beside  their  coffins,  or  follow  their  bodies  to  the  grave. 
A  woman  without  friends  in  this  world  is  like  unto  a  traveller 
in  a  sandy  desert  without  a  bottle  of  water. 

Yet  was  I  so  far  better  than  some  of  these  poor  friendless 
creatures,  because  I  had,  concealed  upon  me,  a  bag  containing 
all  the  money  which  Barnaby  had  given  me,  two  hundred  and 
fifty  gold  pieces,  save  a  little  which  we  had  expended  at  Taun- 
ton and  Ilminster.  This  is  a  great  sum,  and  by  its  help  I  could, 
I  thought  with  satisfaction,  live  for  a  long  time,  perhaps  all  my 
life,  if  I  could  find  some  safe  retreat  among  godly  people. 

No  friends  ?  Why,  there  was  Susan  Blake,  of  Taunton  ;  she 
who  walked  with  the  maids  when  they  gave  Monmouth  the 
Bible,  the  sword,  and  the  flags.  I  resolved  that  I  would  go 
to  her  and  tell  her  all  that  had  happened.  Out  of  her  kindness 
she  would  take  me  in,  and  help  me  to  find  some  safer  hiding- 
place,  and  perhaps  some  honest  way  of  living,  so  as  to  save  his 
money  against  Barnaby's  return  from  the  plantations. 

Then  I  thought  I  would  find  out  the  valley  where  we  had 
lived  for  a  fortnight,  and  rest  for  one  night  in  the  hut,  and  in 
the  early  morning  before  daybreak  walk  down  the  comb,  and  so 
into  Taunton,  while  as  yet  the  town  was  still  sleeping ;  and 
this  I  did.  It  was  very  easy  to  find  the  head  of  the  comb,  and 
the  source  of  the  stream  where  we  had  made  our  encampment. 


238  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Close  by,  beneath  the  trees,  was  Baniaby's  hut ;  no  one  had 
been  there  to  disturb  or  destroy  it,  but  the  leaves  upon  the 
boughs  which  formed  its  sides  were  now  dead.  Within  it  the 
fern  and  the  heath,  which  had  formed  my  bed,  were  still  dry. 
Outside,  the  pot  hung  over  the  black  embers  of  our  last  fire  ; 
and,  to  ray  great  joy,  in  the  basket  which  had  contained  our 
provisions,  I  found  a  large  crust  of  bread.  It  was,  to  be  sure, 
dry  and  hard,  but  I  dipped  it  in  the  running  water  of  the  stream, 
and  made  my  supper  with  it.  For  dessert  I  had  blackberries, 
which  were  now  ripe,  and  are  nowhere  bigger  or  sweeter  than 
on  Black  Down.  There  were  also  filberts  and  nuts  also  ripe, 
of  which  I  gathered  a  quantity,  so  that  I  had  breakfast  pro- 
vided for  me,  as  well  as  supper. 

When  I  had  done  this  I  was  so  tired,  and  my  head  so  giddy 
with  the  terror  of  the  day,  that  I  lay  down  upon  the  fern  in  the 
hut  and  there  fell  fast  asleep,  and  so  continued  until  far  into 
the  night. 

Now,  in  my  sleep,  a  strange  thing  happened  unto  me.  For 
my  own  part  I  account  it  nothing  less  than  a  vision  granted 
unto  me  by  mercy  and  special  grace  of  Heaven.  Those  who 
read  of  it  may  call  it  what  they  please.  It  was  in  this  wise : 
There  appeared  before  my  sleeping  eyes  (but  they  seemed  wide 
open),  as  it  were,  a  broad  and  open  campaign ;  presently  there 
came  running  across  the  plain  in  great  terror,  shrieking  and 
holding  her  hands  aloft,  a  girl  whose  face  I  could  not  see.  She 
ran  in  this  haste  and  terrible  anguish  of  fear  because  there  fol- 
lowed after  her  a  troop  of  dogs  barkmg  and  yelping.  Behind 
the  dogs  rode  on  horseback  one  whose  face  I  saw  not  any  more 
than  that  of  the  girl.  He  cursed  and  swore  (I  knew  the  voice, 
but  could  not  tell  in  my  dream  to  whom  it  belonged),  and 
cracked  a  horrid  whip,  and  encouraged  the  dogs,  lashing  the 
laggards.  In  his  eyes  (though  his  face  was  in  some  kind  of 
shadow),  there  was  such  a  look  as  I  remembered  in  Benjamin's 
when  he  put  the  ring  upon  my  finger — a  look  of  resolute  and 
hungry  wickedness,  which  made  me  tremble  and  shake. 

Now,  as  I  looked,  the  dogs  still  gained  upon  her  who  ran 
and  screamed,  as  if  in  a  few  moments  they  would  spring  upon 
her  and  tear  her  flesh  from  her  bones.  Then,  suddenly,  be- 
tween her  who  ran  and  those  who  pursued  there  arose  an  awful 
form.     He  was  clad  in  white,  and  in  his  hand  he  bore  a  sword^ 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM,  239 

and  Le  turned  upon  that  liunter  a  face  filled  with  wrath.  Light- 
nings shot  from  his  eyes,  and  a  cloud  of  thunder  lay  upon  his 
brow.  At  the  sight  of  that  face  the  dogs  stopped  in  their  run- 
ning, cowered,  and  fell  dead.  And  at  the  dreadful  aspect  of 
that  face  the  hunter's  horse  fell  headlong,  and  his  rider,  falling 
also,  with  a  shriek  of  terror,  broke  his  neck,  and  so  lay  prostrate 
and  dead.  Then  this  dreadful  minister  of  God's  wrath  turned 
from  him  to  the  flying  figure ;  and  lo !  his  face  was  now  trans- 
formed ;  his  eyes  became  soft  and  full  of  love ;  he  smiled  gra- 
ciously ;  a  crown  of  glory  v/as  upon  his  head ;  white  robes 
flowed  downward  to  his  feet ;  his  fiery  sword  was  a  palm-branch  : 
he  was  the  Angel  of  Consolation.  "  Have  no  more  fear,"  he 
said,  "  though  the  waves  of  the  sea  rise  up  against  thee  and  the 
winds  threaten  to  drown  thee  in  the  deep.  Among  the  ungodly 
and  the  violent  thou  shalt  be  safe  :  in  all  times  of  peril  the  Lord 
will  uphold  thee  :  earthly  joy  shall  be  thine.  Be  steadfast  unto 
the  end." 

And  then  I  looked  again,  those  blessed  words  ringing  in  my 
cars  :  and  behold  !  I  saw  then,  which  I  had  not  seen  before,  that 
the  flying  figure  was  none  other  than  myself ;  that  he  who 
cruelly  hunted  with  the  dogs  and  the  whip  was  none  other 
than  my  husband ;  and  that  the  Angel  of  Wrath,  who  became 
the  Angel  of  Consolation,  was  none  other  than  my  father  him- 
self. But  he  was  glorified.  Oh,  the  face  was  his  face,  that 
any  one  could  see,  but  it  was  changed  with  something — I  know 
not  what — so  far  brighter  and  sweeter  than  the  earthly  face  that 
I  marvelled.     Then  the  vision  disappeared,  and  I  awoke. 

So  bright  and  clear  had  it  been  that  I  seemed  to  see  it  still, 
though  I  was  sitting  up  with  my  eyes  open  and  it  was  night. 
Then  it  slowly  vanished.  Henceforth,  however,  I  was  assured 
of  two  things :  first,  that  no  harm  would  happen  unto  me,  but 
that  I  should  be  protected  from  the  malice  of  my  enemies,  what- 
ever they  might  design  (indeed,  I  had  but  one  enemy,  to  wit, 
the  man  who  had  that  morning  sworn  to  love  and  cherish  me) ; 
and,  next,  that  I  had  seen  with  mortal  eyes  what,  indeed,  had 
been  vouchsafed  to  few — the  actual  spiritual  body — the  glorified 
body,  like  to  the  earthly,  but  changed — with  which  the  souls  of 
the  elect  are  clothed. 

So  I  arose  now  without  the  least  fear.  It  was  night,  but  in 
the  cast  there  showed  the  first  gray  of  the  dawn,  and  the  birds 


240  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

were  already  beginning  to  twitter  as  if  they  Avere  dreaming  of 
the  day.  The  wind  was  fresli  and  I  was  lightly  clad,  but  the 
splendor  of  the  vision  made  ine  forget  the  cold.  Oh,  I  had  re- 
ceived a  voice  from  heaven.  How  could  I  henceforth  fear  any- 
thing ?  Nay,  there  was  no  room  even  for  grief,  though  those 
terrible  things  had  fallen  npon  me,  and  I  was  now  alone  and 
friendless,  and  the  world  is  full  of  ungodly  men. 

It  must  have  been  abont  half-past  four  in  the  morning.  It 
grew  lighter  fast,  so  that  not  only  the  trees  became  visible,  but 
the  black  depths  between  them  changed  into  glades  and  under- 
wood, and  I  could  see  my  way  down  the  comb  beside  the 
stream.  Then,  without  waiting  for  the  sun  to  rise  (which  he 
presently  did  in  warmth  and  splendor),  I  started,  hoping  to  get 
into  Taunton  before  the  people  were  up  and  the  streets  became 
crowded.  But  I  did  not  know  the  distance,  which  must  have 
been  seven  miles  at  least,  because  it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock 
when  I  reached  the  town,  having  followed  the  course  of  the 
stream  through  three  villages,  which  I  have  since  learned  must 
have  been  those  of  Pitminster,  Troll,  and  Wilton. 

It  was  market-day  and  the  streets  were  full  of  country  people 
— some  of  them  were  farmers,  with  bags  of  corn  in  their  hands, 
going  to  the  corn-market,  and  some  with  carts  full  of  fresh  fruit 
and  other  things.  Their  faces  were  heavy  and  sad,  and  they 
talked  in  whispers,  as  if  they  were  afraid.  They  had,  indeed, 
good  cause  for  fear,  for  the  prison  held  over  five  hundred  un- 
fortunate men  waiting  for  their  trial,  and  the  terrible  judge  was 
already  on  his  way,  with  his  carts  filled  with  more  prisoners 
rumbling  after  him.  Already  Colonel  Kirke  had  caused  I  know 
not  how  many  to  be  hanged,  and  the  reports  of  what  had  been 
done  at  Dorchester  and  Exeter  sufliciently  prepared  the  minds 
of  the  wretched  prisoners  at  Taunton  for  what  was  about  to  be 
done  there.  Among  them  was  the  unfortunate  Captain  Ilucker, 
the  serge-maker,  who  had  looked  for  a  peerage  and  was  now  to 
receive  a  halter.  There  was  also  among  them  that  poor  man, 
Mr.  Simon  Hamlyn,  who  was  hanged  only  for  riding  into  Taun- 
ton in  order  to  dissuade  his  son  from  joining  Monmouth.  This 
the  Mayor  of  Taunton  pointed  out  to  the  bloodthirsty  judge,  but 
in  vain.  The  whole  five  hundred  prisoners  were  in  the  end 
sentenced  to  death,  and  one  hundred  and  forty-five  actually  suf- 
fered, to  the  great  indignation  of  those  who  looked  on,  even  of 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  241 

the  king's  party.  Nay,  at  one  of  the  executions,  when  nineteen 
were  hanged  at  the  same  time,  and  a  great  fire  was  made  so  that 
the  sufferers  might  actually  see  before  their  death  the  fire  that 
was  to  burn  their  bowels,  the  very  soldiers  wept,  saying  that  it 
was  so  sad  a  thing  they  scarce  knew  how  to  bear  it.  Three 
years  later  the  hard  heart  of  the  king  met  with  its  proper  pun- 
ishment. 

The  soldiers  were  among  the  crowd,  some  leaning  against 
bulkheads,  some  drinking  at  the  alehouses,  some  haggling  for 
the  fruit ;  some  were  also  exercising  upon  Castle  Green.  They 
looked  good-natured,  and  showed  in  their  faces  none  of  the  cru- 
elty and  rage  which  belonged  to  their  officers.  But  what  a 
doleful  change  from  the  time  when  Monmouth's  soldiers  filled 
the  town,  and  all  hearts  were  full  of  joy  and  every  face  shone 
with  happiness  !     What  a  change  indeed  ! 

As  I  passed  among  the  crowd  one  caught  me  by  the  arm.  It 
was  a  little  old  woman,  her  face  all  wrinkled  and  puckered.  She 
was  sitting  on  a  stool  beside  a  great  basket  full  of  apples  and 
plums,  and  a  little  pipe  of  tobacco  Avithin  her  lips. 

"  Mistress,"  she  Avhispered,-  taking  the  pipe  from  her  mouth, 
"  thou  wert  with  the  maids  the  day  of  the  flags.  I  remember 
thy  pretty  face.  What  dost  thou  here  abroad  among  the  peo- 
ple ?  The  air  of  Taunton  town  is  unwholesome.  There  may  be 
others  who  will  remember  thee  as  well  as  I.  Take  an  old  wom- 
an's advice  and  get  thee  gone.  How  fares  it  with  thy  father, 
the  worthy  Dr.  Eykin  ?" 

"  Alas  !"  I  said,  "  he  died  in  Ilminster  jail." 

"  'Tis  pity.  But  he  was  old  and  pious.  He  hath  gone  to 
glory.  Whither  will  those  poor  lads  in  the  jail  go  when  they 
are  hanged?  Get  thee  gone — get  thee  gone.  The  air  is  al- 
ready foul  with  dead  men's  bodies.  They  tell  strange  stories 
of  what  hath  been  done  by  women  for  the  safety  of  their  broth- 
ers. Get  thee  gone,  pretty  maid,  lest  something  worse  than 
prison  happen  to  thee.  And  Judge  Jeffreys  is  coming  hither 
like  the  devil,  having  much  wrath," 

I  could  not  tell  her  that  nothing  would  happen  to  me  because 
I  was  protected  by  a  heavenly  guard. 

.  "  I  was  in  the  town  forty  years  agone,"  the  old  woman  went 

on,  "  when  Blake  defended  it,  and  we  were  well-nigh  starved ; 

but  never  have  I  seen  such  things  as  have  been  done  here  since 

11  Q 


242  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

the  duke  was  routed.  Get  thee  gone  ;  haste  away  as  from  the 
mouth  of  hell ;  get  thee  gone,  poor  child." 

So  I  left  lier  and  went  on  my  way,  hanging  my  head  in  hopes 
that  no  one  else  would  recognize  me.  Fortunately  no  one  did, 
though  I  saw  many  faces  which  I  had  seen  in  the  town  before. 
They  were  then  tossing  their  caps  and  shouting  for  Monmouth, 
but  were  now  gloomily  Avhispering,  as  if  every  man  feared  that 
his  own  turn  would  come  next.  Over  the  great  gateway  of  the 
castle  was  stuck  up  a  high  row  of  heads,  arms,  and  legs  of  reb- 
els blackened  with  pitch — a  horrid  sight.  Unto  this  end  had 
come  those  brave  fellows  who  went  forth  to  dethrone  the  king. 
No  one  noticed  or  accosted  me,  and  I  arrived  safely  at  Susan's 
house.  The  door"  seemed  shut,  but  when  I  pushed  I  found  that 
it  was  open,  the  lock  having  been  broken  from  its  fastening. 
Barnaby  did  that,  I  remembered.  I  went  in,  shutting  it  after 
me.  No  doubt  Susan  was  with  her  children  in  the  schoolroom. 
Strange  that  she  should  not  repair  her  lock,  and  that  at  a  time 
when  the  town  was  full  of  soldiers,  who  always  carry  with  them 
their  riotous  and  lawless  followers.  'Twas  unlike  her  orderly 
housekeeping.  * 

There  was  no  one  in  the  back  parlor,  where  Susan  commonly 
took  her  meals  and  conducted  the  morning  and  evening  praj^ers. 
The  dishes  were  on  the  table  as  if  of  last  night's  supper,  or  yes- 
terday's dinner.  This  was  also  unlike  a  tidy  housewife.  I 
opened  the  door  of  the  front  parlor.  Though  it  was  already 
past  the  hour  for  school,  there  were  no  children  in  the  room : 
the  lesson-books  and  copying-books  and  slates  lay  about  the 
floor.  What  did  this  untidy  litter  mean  ?  Then  I  went  up- 
stairs and  into  the  bedrooms,  of  which  there  were  three ;  name- 
ly, two  on  the  floor  above  and  one  a  garret.  No  one  was  in 
thein,  and  the  beds  had  not  been  made.  There  remained  only 
the  kitchen  ;  no  one  was  there.  The  house  was  quite  empty. 
I  observed  also  that  the  garden,  which  was  wont  to  be  kept  with 
the  greatest  neatness,  now  looked  neglected ;  the  ripe  plums 
were  dropping  from  the  branches  trained  upon  the  wall ;  the 
apples  lay  upon  the  grass ;  the  flower-beds  were  cumbered  with 
weeds ;  grass  grew  in  the  walks ;  the  lawn,  which  had  been  so 
neat  and  trim,  was  covered  with  long  grass. 

What  had  happened  ?  Where  was  Susan  ?  Then  I  seemed 
to  hear  her  voice  above  chanting  God  for  the  victory,  as  she 


"As  I  passed  among  the  crowd,  one  caught  me  hy  the  (inn.     It  teas  a  Utile 
old  woman,  her  face  all  wrinkled  and  puckered." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  243 

had  done  when  Barnaby  burst  in  upon  us ;  and  I  heard  her 
singing  a  hymn  with  the  children,  as  she  had  done  while  we  all 
sat  embroidering  the  flags.  Oh  !  the  pretty  flags !  And  oh ! 
the  pretty  sight  of  the  innocents  in  white  and  blue  carrying 
those  flags !  The  house  was  filled  with  the  sounds  of  bygone 
happiness.  Had  I  stayed  another  moment  I  am  certain  that  I 
should  have  seen  the  ghosts  of  those  who  tilled  the  rooms  in  the 
happy  days  when  the  army  was  in  the  town.  But  I  did  not 
stay.  Not  knowing  what  to  do  or  whither  to  fly,  I  ran  quickly 
out  of  the  house,  thinking  only  to  get  away  from  the  mournful 
silence  of  the  empty  and  deserted  rooms.  Then,  as  I  stepped 
into  the  street,  I  met,  face  to  face,  none  other  than  Mr.  George 
Penne,  the  kind-hearted  gentleman  who  had  compassionated  the 
prisoners  at  Ilminster. 


CHAPTER  XXXH. 

MR.    GEORGE     PENNE. 


"  'Tis  no  other  than  the  Fair  Maid  of  Ilminster !"  said  Mr. 
Penne,  with  surprise.  "  Madam,  with  submission,  is  it  safe — is 
it  prudent — for  one  who  walked  with  the  maids  of  Taunton  on 
a  certain  memorable  day  to  venture  openly  into  the  streets  of 
this  city  at  such  a  time  ?  Judge  Jefiireys  doth  approacli  to  hold 
his  court.  Thy  friends  are  in  prison  or  in  hiding.  The  maids 
are  scattered  all." 

"  I  sought  shelter,"  I  said,  "  at  the  house  of  8usan  Blake,  the 
schoolmistress." 

"  How  ?  You  have  not  heard,  then.  Miss  Susan  Blake  is 
dead." 

"  She  is  dead  ?" 

"  She  died  in  Dorchester  Jail,  whither  she  was  sent,  being 
specially  exempted  from  any  pardon.  'Twas  fever  carried  her 
off.  She  is  dead.  Alas !  the  waste  of  good  lives.  She  might 
have  bought  her  freedom  after  a  Avhile,  and  then — but — well — 
'tis  useless  to  lament  these  mishaps." 

"  Alas  !  alas  !"  I  cried,  vrringing  my  hands.  "  Then  am  I  in 
evil  plight  indeed.     All,  all  are  dead — all  my  friends  are  dead." 

"Madam,"  he  replied,  very  kindly,  "not  all  your  friends,  if  I 


244  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

may  say  so.  I  have,  I  assure  you,  a  most  compassionate  heart. 
I  bleed  for  the  sufferings  of  others ;  I  cannot  rest  until  I  have 
brought  relief.  This  is  my  way.  Oh,  I  take  not  credit  to  my- 
self therefor ;  it  is  that  I  am  so  constituted.  I  am  not  proud 
or  uplifted  on  this  account.  Only  tell  me  your  case ;  intrust 
your  safety  to  me.  You  may  do  so  safely,  if  you  reflect  for  one 
moment,  because — see — one  word  from  me  and  you  would  be 
taken  to  prison  by  yon  worthy  clergyman,  who  is  none  other 
than  the  Rev.  Mr.  Walter  Harte,  the  Rector  of  Taunton.  No 
one  is  more  active  against  the  rebels,  and  he  would  rejoice  in 
committing  thee  on  the  charge  of  having  been  among  the  maids. 
A  word  from  me  would,  I  say,  cause  you  to  be  hauled  to  jail. 
But,  observe,  I  do  not  speak  that  word.  God  forbid  that  I 
should  speak  that  word  !" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  said,  "  this  goodness  overwhelms  me." 

"  Then,  madam,  for  greater  privacy,  let  us  go  back  into  the 
house,  and  converse  there." 

So  we  went  back  to  the  empty  house  and  sat  in  the  back 
parlor. 

"  As  for  the  nature  of  your  trouble,  madam,"  he  began,  "  I 
hope  you  have  no  dear  brothers  or  cousins  among  those  poor 
fellows  in  Taunton  Jail." 

"  No,  sir,  my  only  brother  is  at  Ilminster ;  and  my  cousins 
are  far  away  in  New  England." 

"  That  is  well.  One  who,  like  myself,  is  of  a  compassionate 
disposition,  cannot  but  bewail  the  grievous  waste  in  jail  fever, 
small-pox,  scarlet  fever,  or  putrid  throat  (to  say  nothing  of  the 
hangings)  which  now  daily  happens  in  the  prison.  What  doth 
it  avail  to  hang  and  quarter  a  man,  when  he  might  be  usefully 
set  to  work  upon  his  majesty's  plantations  ?  It  is  a  most  sinful 
and  foolish  waste,  I  say  " — he  spoke  with  great  sincerity  and 
warmth — "  and  a  robbing  of  the  pockets  of  honest  merchants." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  I  said,  "  your  words  prove  the  goodness  of 
your  heart." 

"  Let  my  deeds,  rather  than  my  words,  prove  that.  How  fare 
the  prisoners  Avith  whom  you  are  most  concerned  ?" 

"  Alas  !  Sir  Christopher  is  dead  ;  and  my  father  hath  also  died 
of  his  wound." 

"So  —  indeed  —  more  waste.  They  are  dead.  More  waste. 
But  one  was  old.     Had  Sir  Christopher  been  sent  to  the  plan- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  245 

tations  liis  value  would  have  but  a  small — though,  indeed,  a  ran- 
som— but  he  is  dead ;  and  your  father  being  wounded — but  they 
are  dead,  and  so  no  more  need  be  said.  There  are,  however, 
others,  if  I  remember  aright." 

"  There  is  my  brother  in  Ilminster  prison,  and — " 

"  Yes,  the  two  young  gentlemen,  Challis  is  their  name,  in 
Exeter.  I  have  seen  them  and  conversed  with  them.  Strong 
young  men,  especially  one  of  them.  'Tis  sad  indeed  to  think 
that  they  may  be  cut  off  in  the  very  bloom  of  their  age,  when 
they  would  command  so  high  a  price  in  Jamaica  or  Barbadoes, 
I  ventured  to  beg,  before  their  trial,  that  they  would  immedi- 
ately begin  to  use  whatever  interest  they  might  be  able  to  com- 
mand, in  order  to  get  their  sentence  (which  was  certain)  com- 
muted. Many  will  be  suffered  to  go  abroad ;  Avhy  not  these 
young  gentlemen  ?  But  they  have  no  interest,  they  assured  me, 
and  therefore  I  fear  that  they  will  die.  'Tis  most  sad.  They 
cannot  hang  all,  that  is  quite  true ;  but,  then,  these  young  gen- 
tlemen were  officers  in  the  army,  and  therefore  an  example  will 
be  made  of  them,  if  they  have  no  interest  at  court." 

"  Well,  sir,"  I  told  him,  pleased  to  find  him  of  such  a  kindly 
and  thoughtful  disposition,  "  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that 
they  are  already  pardoned,  and  have  been  presented  by  the  king 
to  a  gentleman  at  court." 

"  Aha  !  Sayest  thou  so  ?"  His  eyes  glittered,  and  he  rubbed 
his  hands.  "This  is  indeed  joyful  news.  One  of  them,  Mr. 
Robin  Challis  is  a  goodly  lad,  like  to  whom  there  are  few  sent 
out  to  the  plantations.  He  will  certainly  fetch  a  good  price. 
The  other,  Mr.  Humphrey,  who  is  somewhat  crooked,  will  go 
for  less.  Who  hath  obtained  the  gift  of  these  young  gentle- 
men?" 

"  It  is  a  person  named  Mr.  Nipho." 

"  Mr.  Jerome  Nipho.  I  know  him  well.  He  is  a  good  Catho- 
lic— I  mean  a  papist — and  is  much  about  the  court.  He  is 
lucky  in  having  had  many  prisoners  given  to  him.  And  now, 
madam,  I  hope  you  will  command  my  services." 

"  In  what  way,  sir  ?" 

"  In  this  way.  I  am,  as  I  have  told  you,"  here  he  wagged  his 
head,  and  Avinked  both  eyes,  and  laughed  pleasantly,  "  one  of 
those  foolish  busybodies  who  love  to  be  still  doing  good  to  their 
fellow-creatures.     To  do  good  is  my  whole  delight.     Unfortu- 


246  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

natcly  the  oj^portunities  arc  rare  of  conferring  exemplary  bene- 
fit upon  my  fellow-men.     But  here  the  way  seems  clear." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  and  laughed  again,  repeating  that  the 
way  was  clear  before  him,  so  that  I  believed  myself  fortunate  in 
falling  in  with  so  virtuous  a  person. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  cried,  "  would  that  the  whole  world  would  so 
live  and  so  act !" 

"  Truly,  if  it  did,  we  should  have  the  prisons  cleared.  There 
should  be  no  more  throwing  away  of  good  lives  in  hanging;  no 
more  waste  of  stout  fellows  and  lusty  wenches  by  fever  and 
small-pox.  All  should  go  to  the  plantations — all.  Now,  madam, 
to  our  business,  which  is  the  advantage  of  these  young  gentle- 
men. Know,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Jerome  Nipho,  with  all  those 
who  have  received  presents  of  prisoners,  straightway  sell  them 
to  persons  who  engage  to  transport  them  across  the  seas  to  his 
majesty's  plantations  in  Jamaica,  Virginia,  or  elsewhere.  Here 
they  are  bound  to  work  for  a  certain  term  of  years.  Call  it  not 
work,  however,"  he  added,  quickly ;  "  say,  rather,  that  they  are 
invited  every  day  to  exercise  themselves  in  the  cotton  and  the 
sugar  fields.  The  climate  is  delightful;  the  sky  is  seldom 
clouded  ;  there  are  never  any  frosts  or  snows  ;  it  is  always  sum- 
mer ;  the  fruits  are  delicious ;  they  have  a  kind  of  spirit  dis- 
tilled from  the  sugar-canes,  which  is  said  to  be  finer  and  more 
wholesome  than  the  best  Nantz  ;  the  food  is  palatable  and  plenti- 
ful, though  plain.  The  masters,  or  employers  (call  them  rather 
friends),  are  gentlemen  of  the  highest  humanity,  and  the  society 
is  composed  of  sober  merchants,  wealthy  planters,  and  gentle- 
men, like  your  brother,  who  have  had  the  misfortune  to  differ 
in  opinions  with  the  government." 

"  Why,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  have  always  understood  that  the 
transported  prisoners  are  treated  with  the  greatest  inhumanity, 
forced  to  work  in  heat  such  as  we  never  experience,  driven  with 
the  lash,  and  half  starved,  so  that  none  ever  come  back." 

He  shook  his  head  gently.  "  See  now,"  he  said,  "  how  preju- 
dices arise !  Who  could  have  thought  that  the  plantations 
should  be  thus  regarded  ?  'Tis  true  that  there  are  estates  culti- 
vated by  convicts  of  another  kind  ;  I  mean  robbers,  highway- 
men, petty  thieves,  and  the  like.  Bristol  doth,  every  year,  send 
away  a  ship-load  at  least  of  such.  Nay  ;  'tis  reported  that  rather 
than  hang  murderers  and  the  like,  the  Bristol  merchants  buy 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  24V 

tliem  of  tlie  magistrates  ;  but  this  is  out  of  tlie  kindness  of  tlieir 
hearts.  Madam,"  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom,  and  looked 
me  in  the  face,  "  I,  myself,  am  sometimes  engaged  in  that  trade. 
I,  myself,  buy  these  unhappy  prisoners,  and  send  them  to  estates 
where,  I  know,  they  will  be  treated  with  the  greatest  kindness. 
Do  I  look  like  a  dishonest  man,  madam  ?  My  name  it  is  George 
Penne,  and  I  am  known  by  every  man  of  credit  in  Bristol.  Do  I 
talk  like  one  who  would  make  money  out  of  his  neighbors'  suf- 
ferings ?  Nay,  if  that  is  so,  let  us  part  at  once,  and  say  no 
more.  Madam,  your  humble  servant ;  no  harm  is  done,  your 
humble  servant,  madam."  He  put  his  hat  under  his  arm,  and 
made  as  if  he  would  go.  But  I  begged  him  to  remain,  and  to 
advise  me  further  in  the  matter. 

Then  I  asked  him  if  transported  persons  ever  came  home  again. 

"  Surely,"  he  replied,  "  some  of  them  come  home  laden  with 
gold.  Some  possessed  of  places  both  of  honor  and  of  profit, 
who  return  to  visit  their  friends,  and  then  go  back  to  the  new 
country.  It  is  a  very  Eldorado,  or  Land  of  Gold,  to  those  who  are 
willing  to  work ;  and  for  those  who  have  money,  and  choose  to 
buy  exemption  from  work,  it  is  only  an  agreeable  residence, 
in  cheerful  society,  for  a  certain  term  of  years.  Have  you, 
by  chance,  madam,  any  friends  who  can  influence  Mr.  Jerome 
Nipho  ?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  have  none." 

"  Then  will  I,  myself,  communicate  with  that  gentleman. 
Understand,  madam,  that  I  shall  have  to  pay  him  so  much  a 
head  for  every  prisoner ;  that  I  shall  be  engaged  to  place  every 
man  on  board  ship  ;  that  the  prisoners  will  then  be  taken  across 
the  seas,  and  again  sold.  But  in  the  case  of  those  who  have 
money,  a  ransom  can  be  procured  by  means  of  which  they  will 
not  have  to  work." 

So  far  he  had  spoken  in  the  belief  that  I  was  at  Taunton  on 
my  brother's  business,  or  that  of  my  friends.  I  told  him,  there- 
fore, that  certain  events  had  occurred  which  would  prevent  me 
from  seeing  the  prisoners  at  Exeter.  And,  because  I  could  not 
forbear  from  weeping  while  I  spoke,  he  very  earnestly  begged 
me  to  inform  him  fully,  in  every  particular,  as  to  my  history ; 
adding  that  his  benevolence  was  not  confined  to  the  unhappy 
case  of  prisoners,  but  that  it  was  ready  to  be  extended  in  any 
other  direction  that  happy  chance  might  offer. 


248  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Therefore  being,  as  you  have  seen,  so  friendless  and  so  igno- 
rant, and  so  fearful  of  falling  into  my  husband's  hands,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  so  grateful  to  this  good  man  for  his  kindly  offers 
(indeed,  I  took  him  for  an  instrument  provided  by  Heaven  for 
the  safety  promised  in  my  vision  of  the  night),  that  I  told  him 
everything  exactly,  concealing  nothing ;  nay,  I  even  told  him  of 
the  bag  of  gold  which  I  had  tied  round  my  waist ;  a  thing  which 
I  had  hitherto  concealed,  because  the  money  was  not  mine,  but 
Barnaby's.     But  I  told  it  to  Mr.  Penne. 

While  I  related  my  history  he  interrupted  me  by  frequent 
ejaculations,  showing  his  abhorrence  of  the  wickedness  with 
which  Benjamin  compassed  his  design ;  and  when  I  finished  he 
lield  up  his  hands  in  amazement. 

"  Good  God !"  he  cried,  "  that  such  a  wretch  should  live ! 
That  he  should  be  allowed  still  to  cumber  the  earth !  What 
punishment  were  fitting  for  this  devil  in  the  shape  of  man  ? 
Madam,  your  case  is  indeed  one  that  would  move  the  heart  of 
Nero  himself.     What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Nay,  that  I  know  not.  For  if  I  go  back  to  our  village  he 
will  find  me  there ;  and  if  I  find  out  some  hiding-place  he  will 
seek  me  out  and  find  me  ;  I  shall  never  know  rest  or  peace  again. 
For  of  one  thing  am  I  resolved ;  I  will  die,  yea,  I  will  indeed 
die,  before  I  will  become  his  wife  more  than  I  am  at  present." 

"  I  cannot  but  commend  that  resolution,  madam.  But  (to  be 
plain  with  you)  there  is  no  place  in  the  world  more  unsafe  for 
you  than  Taunton  at  this  time.  Therefore,  if  you  please,  I  will 
ride  with  you  to  Bristol  without  delay." 

"  Sir,  I  cannot  ask  this  sacrifice  of  your  business." 

"  My  business  lies  at  Bristol.  I  can  do  no  more  here  until 
Judge  Jeffreys  hath  got  through  his  hangings,  of  which,  I  fear, 
there  may  be  many,  and  so  more  sinful  waste  of  good  convicts. 
Let  us  therefore  hasten  away  as  quickly  as  may  be.  As  for 
what  shall  be  done  afterwards,  that  we  will  consider  on  the 
way." 

Did  ever  a  woman  in  misfortune  meet  with  so  good  a  man  ? 
The  Samaritan  himself  was  not  of  better  heart. 

Well,  to  be  brief,  half  an  hour  afterw^ards  we  mounted  and 
rode  to  Bristol,  by  way  of  Bridgwater  (this  town  was  even  more 
melancholy  than  Taunton),  taking  three  days,  the  weather  being 
now  wet  and  raining,  so  that  the  Avays  were  bad.     Now,  as  we 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  249 

rode  along,  Mr.  Pcnnc  and  I  side  by  side,  and  his  servant  be- 
hind, armed  with  a  bkindcrbuss,  our  conversation  was  grave, 
turning  chiefly  on  the  imprudence  of  the  people  in  following 
Monmouth,  when  they  should  have  waited  for  the  gentry  to 
lead  the  way.  I  found  my  companion  (whom  I  held  to  be  my 
benefactor)  sober  in  manners  and  in  conversation  ;  no  drunkard ; 
no  use  of  profane  oaths ;  and  towards  me,  a  woman  whom  he 
had  (so  to  say)  in  his  power,  he  behaved  always  with  the  great- 
est ceremony  and  politeness.  So  that  I  hoped  to  have  found  in 
this  good  man  a  true  protector. 

When  we  reached  Bristol  he  told  me  that,  for  my  better 
safety,  he  would  lodge  me  apart  from  his  own  house ;  and  so 
took  me  to  a  house  in  Broad  Street,  near  St.  John's  Gate,  where 
there  was  a  most  respectable  old  lady  of  grave  aspect,  though 
red  in  the  cheek. 

"  I  have  brought  you,  madam,"  he  said,  "  to  the  house  of  a 
lady  whose  virtue  and  piety  are  well  known." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  this  house  is  well  known  for  the 
piety  of  those  who  use  it.  And  everybody  knows  that  you  are 
all  goodness." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Penne.  "  No  man  is  good.  We  can  but  try 
our  best.  In  this  house,  however,  madam,  you  will  be  safe.  I 
beg  and  implore  you  not  at  present  to  stir  abroad,  for  reasons 
which  you  very  well  know.  This  good  woman  has  three  or 
four  daughters  in  the  house  who  are  sometimes,  1  believe, 
merry — " 

"  Sir,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  children  will  be  foolish." 

"True;  true,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "Take  care,  then,  that 
they  molest  not  madam." 

"  No,  sir,  they  shall  not." 

"  Then,  madam,  for  the  moment  I  leave  you.  Rest  and  be 
easy  in  your  mind.  I  have,  I  think,  contrived  a  plan  which  will 
answer  your  case  perfectly." 

In  the  evening  he  returned  and  sent  me  word,  very  ceremoni- 
ously, that  he  desired  the  favor  of  a  conversation  with  me.  As 
if  there  could  be  anything  in  the  world  that  I  desired  more. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  have  considered  carefully  your  case, 
and  I  can  find  but  one  advice  to  give." 

"  Wliat  is  it,  sir  ?" 

"  We  might,"  he  went  on,  "  find  a  lodging  for  you  in  some 
11* 


250  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

quiet  Welsli  town  across  tlie  channel.  At  Chepstow,  for  instance, 
or  at  Newport,  you  might  find  a  home  for  a  while.  But  the 
country  being  greatly  inflamed  with  dissensions,  there  would 
everywhere  be  the  danger  of  some  fanatical  busybody  inquiring 
into  your  history — whence  you  came,  v/hy  you  left  your  friends, 
and  so  forth.  And  again,  in  every  town  there  are  women  (sav- 
ing your  presence,  madam)  whose  tongues  tittle-tattle  all  day 
long.  Short  work  they  make  of  a  stranger.  So  that  I  see  not 
much  safety  in  a  small  town.  Then  again  you  might  find  a 
farmhouse  where  they  would  receive  you.  But  your  case  is  not 
that  you  wish  to  be  hidden  for  a  time,  as  one  implicated  in  the 
Monmouth  business.  Not  so  ;  you  desire  to  be  hidden  all  your 
life,  or  for  the  life  of  the  man  who,  if  he  finds  you,  may  compel 
you  to  live  with  him  ;  and  to  live  for — how  long  ?  Sixty  years, 
perhaps,  in  a  dull  and  dirty  farmhouse,  among  rude  boors, 
would  be  intolerable  to  a  person  of  your  manners  and  accom- 
plishments." 

"  Then,  sir,  in  the  name  of  Heaven " — for  I  began  to  be 
wearied  with  this  lengthy  setting  up  of  plans  only  to  pull  them 
down  again — "  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  You  might  go  to  London,  At  first  I  thought  that  London 
offered  the  best  hope  of  safe  retreat.  There  are  parts  of  Lon- 
don where  the  gentlemen  of  the  robe  are  never  seen,  and  where 
you  might  be  safe.  Thus,  about  the  eastern  parts  of  the  city 
there  are  never  any  lawyers  at  all.  There  you  might  be  safe. 
But  yet,  it  would  be  a  perpetual  risk.  Your  face,  madam,  if  I 
may  say  so,  is  one  which  will  not  be  quickly  forgotten  when  it 
hath  once  been  seen.  You  would  be  persecuted  by  would-be 
lovers ;  you  would  go  in  continual  terror,  knowing  that  one  you 
fear  was  living  only  a  mile  away  from  you.  You  would  have  to 
make  up  some  story  to  maintain,  which  would  be  troublesome ; 
and  presently  the  time  would  come  when  you  would  have  no 
more  money.     What  then  would  you  do  ?" 

"Pray,  sir,  if  you  can,  tell  me  what  you  think  I  should  do, 
since  there  are  so  many  things  that  I  cannot  do." 

"  Madam,  I  am  going  to  submit  to  you  a  plan  which  seems  to 
me  at  once  the  safest  and  the  best.  You  have,  you  tell  me, 
cousins  in  the  town  of  Boston,  which  is  in  New  England." 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  heard  my  father  speak  of  his  cousins." 

"  I  have,  myself,  visited  that  place,  and  have  heard  mention 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  251 

of  certain  Eykins  as  gentlemen  of  substance  and  reputation.  I 
propose,  madam,  that  you  should  go  to  these  cousins,  and  seek 
a  home  among  them." 

"  Leave  England  ?  You  would  have  me  leave  this  country 
and  go  across  the  ocean  to  America  ?" 

"  That  is  my  advice.  Nay,  madam,"  he  assumed  a  most  seri- 
ous manner,  "  do  not  reject  this  advice  suddenly.  Sleep  upon 
it.  You  are  not  going  among  strangers,  but  among  your  own 
people,  by  whom  the  name  of  your  pious  and  learned  father  is, 
doubtless,  held  in  great  honor.  You  are  going  from  a  life  (at 
best)  of  danger  and  continual  care,  to  a  place  where  you  will  be 
certainly  free  from  persecution.     Madam,  sleep  upon  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

ON    BOARD    THE    ''  JOLLY    THATCHER." 

I  LAY  awake  all  night,  thinking  of  this  plan.  The  more  I 
thought  upon  it  the  more  I  was  pleased  with  it.  To  fly  from 
the  country  was  to  escape  the  pursuit  of  my  husband,  who  would 
never  give  over  looking  for  me,  because  he  was  so  obstinate  and 
masterful.  I  should  also  escape  the  reproaches  of  my  lover, 
Robin,  and  break  myself  altogether  from  a  passion  which  was 
now,  through  my  own  rashness,  become  sinful.  I  might  also 
break  myself  from  the  loathing  and  hatred  which  I  now  felt 
towards  my  wicked  husband,  and  might  even,  in  time,  and  after 
much  prayer,  arrive  at  forgiving  him.  At  that  time,  yea,  and 
for  long  afterwards,  I  did  often  surprise  myself  in  such  a  fit  of 
passion  as,  I  verily  believe,  would  have  made  me  a  murderess, 
had  opportunity,  or  the  Evil  One,  sent  that  man  my  way.  Yea, 
not  once,  or  twice,  but  many  times,  have  I  thus  become  a  mur- 
deress in  thought  and  wish  and  intention.  I  confess  this  sin 
with  shame,  though  I  have  long  since  repented  of  it :  to  have 
been  so  near  unto  it,  nay,  to  have  already  committed  it  in  my 
imagination,  covers  me  with  shame.  And  now,  when  I  some- 
times— my  lord,  the  master  of  my  affections,  doth  allow  it — 
visit  the  prison  of  Ilchester,  and  find  therein  some  poor  wretch 
who  hath  yielded  to  temptation  and  sudden  wrath,  which  is  the 
possession  by  the  devil,  and  so  hath  committed  what  I  only  im- 


252  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

agined,  my  licart  goes  fortli  to  tliat  poor  creature,  and  I  cannot 
rest  until  I  have  prayed  with  lier,  and  softened  her  heart,  and 
left  her  to  go  contrite  to  the  shameful  tree.  Nay,  since,  as  you 
shall  hear,  I  have  been  made  to  pass  part  of  my  life  among  the 
most  wicked  and  profligate  of  my  sex,  I  am  filled  with  the  thought 
that  the  best  of  us  are  not  much  better  tlian  the  Avorst,  and  that 
the  worst  of  us  are  in  some  things  as  good  as  the  best,  so  that 
there  is  no  room  for  pride  and  self-sufficiency,  but  much  for 
humiliation  and  distrust  of  one's  own  heart. 

Well,  if  I  would  consent  to  fly  from  the  country,  across  the 
seas  I  should  find  kith  and  kin  who  would  shelter  me.  There 
should  I  learn  to  think  about  other  things.  Poor  wretch  !  as  if 
I  could  ever  forget  the  village ;  and,  Robin,  oh,  that  I  should 
have  to  try,  even  to  try,  to  forget  Robin.  I  was  to  learn  that 
though  the  skies  be  changed,  the  heart  remains  the  same. 

How  I  fled,  and  whither,  you  shall  now  hear. 

Mr.  George  Penne  came  to  see  me  next  morning — sleek  and 
smiling  and  courteous. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  may  1  know  your  decision,  if  you  have 
yet  arrived  at  one  ?" 

"  Sir,  it  is  already  made.  I  have  slept  upon  it ;  I  have  prayed 
upon  it.     I  will  go." 

"  That  is  well.  It  is  also  most  opportune,  because  a  ship  sails 
this  very  day ;  it  is  most  opportune,  I  say ;  even  providential. 
She  will  drop  down  the  Channel  with  the  coming  tide.  You 
will  want  a  few  things  for  the  voyage." 

"  It  will  be  winter  when  we  arrive,  and  the  winters  in  that 
country  are  cold.  I  must  buy  some  thicker  clothing.  Will 
there  be  any  gentlewoman  on  board  ?" 

"Surely" — he  smiled — "surely.  There  will  be,  I  am  told, 
more  than  one  gentlewoman  on  board  that  ship ;  there  will  be, 
in  fact,  a  large  and  a  cheerful  company,  of  that  you  may  be  as- 
sured. Well,  since  that  is  settled,  a  great  load  of  care  is  re- 
moved, because  I  have  heard  that  your  husband  rode  into  Taun- 
ton with  Judge  Jeffreys ;  that  he  learned  from  some  one,  I  know 
not  from  whom,  of  your  presence  in  the  town,  and  of  your  de- 
parture with  me." 

"  It  must  have  been  the  market-woman." 

"  Doubtless,  the  market-woman."  (I  have  often  asked  myself 
whether  this  was  a  falsehood  or  not.)     "  And  he  is  even  now 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  253 

speeding*  towards   Bristol,  hoping  to  find  you.     Pray  Heaven 
that  he  hath  not  learned  with  whom  you  fled." 

"  Oh !"  I  cried,  "  let  us  go  on  board  the  ship  at  once ;  let  us 
hasten." 

"  Nay,  there  is  no  hurry  for  a  few  hours.  But  stay  within 
doors.  Everything  that  is  w^anting  for  the  voyage  shall  be  put 
on  board  for  you.  As  for  your  meals,  you  Avill  eat  with  " — here 
he  paused  for  a  moment — "  with  the  rest  of  the  company,  under 
the  care  of  the  captain.  For  your  berth,  it  will  be  as  comfort- 
able as  can  be  provided.  Next,  as  to  the  money.  You  have,  I 
understand,  tv/o  hundred  pounds  and  more." 

I  took  the  bag  from  my  waist,  and  rolled  out  the  contents. 
There  were  in  all  two  hundred  and  forty-five  pounds  and  a  few 
shillings.     The  rest  had  been  expended  at  Ilminster. 

He  counted  it  carefully,  and  then  replaced  the  money  in  the 
bag. 

"  The  Eykins,  of  Boston,  in  New  England,"  he  said,  "  are  peo- 
ple of  great  credit  and  substance.  There  will  be  no  necessity 
for  you  to  take  with  you  this  money,  should  you  wish  it  to  be 
expended  to  the  advantage  of  your  brother  and  your  friends." 

"  Take  it  all,  kind  sir.  Take  it  all,  if  so  it  will  help  them  in 
their  need." 

"  Nay,  that  will  not  do,  either,"  he  replied,  smiling,  his  hand 
upon  the  bag ;  "  for,  first,  the  captain  of  your  ship  must  be  paid 
for  his  passage  ;  next,  you  must  not  go  among  strartgers,  though 
your  ow^n  kith  and  kin,  with  no  money  at  all  in  purse.  There- 
fore I  will  set  aside,  by  your  good  leave,  fifty  pounds,  for  your 
private  purse.  So,  fifty  pounds.  A  letter  to  my  correspondent, 
at  Boston,  which  I  will  write,  will  cause  him  to  pay  you  this 
money  on  your  landing.  This  is  a  safer  method  than  to  carry 
the  money  in  a  bag  or  purse,  Avhich  may  be  stolen.  But  if  the 
letter  be  lost  another  can  be  written.  We  merchants,  indeed, 
commonly  send  three  such  letters  of  advice,  in  case  of  shipwreck 
and  loss  of  the  bags.  This  done,  and  the  expenses  of  the  voy- 
age provided,  there  remains  a  large  sum,  which,  judiciously 
spent,  will,  I  think,  insure  for  your  friends  from  the  outset  the 
treatment  reserved  for  prisoners  of  distinction  who  can  afiord 
to  pay.  Namely,  on  their  arrival  they  Avill  be  bought,  as  it  is 
termed,  by  worthy  merchants,  who,  having  been  previously  paid 
by  me,  will  suffer  them  to  live  where  they  please  without  exact- 


254  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

ing  of  tliem  the  least  service  or  work.  Their  relatives  at  home 
will  forward  them  the  means  of  subsistence,  and  so  their  exile 
will  be  softened  for  them.  If  you  consent  thereto,  madam,  I 
will  engage  that  they  shall  be  so  received,  with  the  help  of  this 
money." 

If  I  consented,  indeed !  With  what  joy  did  I  give  my  con- 
sent to  such  laying  out  of  my  poor  Barnaby's  money !  Every- 
thing now  seemed  turning  to  the  best,  thanks  to  my  new  and 
benevolent  friend. 

At  his  desire,  therefore,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Barnaby,  recom- 
mending him  to  trust  himself,  and  to  advise  Robin  and  Hum- 
phrey to  trust  themselves,  entirely  to  the  good  offices  of  this 
excellent  man.  I  informed  him  that  I  was  about  to  cross  the 
seas  to  our  cousins  in  New  England,  in  order  to  escape  the 
clutches  of  the  villain  who  had  betrayed  me.  And  then  I  told 
him  how  his  money  liad  been  bestowed,  and  bade  him  seek 
me,  when  he  should  be  released  from  the  plantations,  wherever 
they  might  send  him,  at  the  town  of  Boston,  among  his  cousins. 
The  letter  Mr.  Penne  faithfully  promised  to  deliver.  {Nota  bene. 
The  letter  was  never  given  to  Barnaby.) 

At  the  same  time  he  wrote  a  letter  for  me  to  give  to  his  cor- 
respondent at  Boston,  telling  me  that  on  reading  that  letter  his 
friend  would  instantly  pay  me  the  sum  of  fifty  pounds. 

Thus  was  the  business  concluded.  And  I  could  not  find 
words,  I  told  him,  to  express  the  gratitude  which  I  felt  for  so 
much  goodness  towards  one  who  was  a  stranger  to  him.  I 
begged  him  to  suffer  me  to  repay  at  least  the  charges  to  which 
he  had  been  put  at  the  inns  and  the  stabling,  since  he  took  me 
into  his  own  care  and  protection.  But  he  would  take  nothing. 
Money,  he  said,  as  payment  for  such  services  as  he  had  been 
enabled  to  render,  would  be  abhorrent  to  his  nature.  Should 
good  deeds  be  bought  ?  was  it  seemly  that  a  merchant  of  credit 
should  sell  an  act  of  common  Christian  charity  ? 

"  What !"  he  asked,  "  are  we  to  see  a  poor  creature  in  danger 
of  being  imprisoned  if  she  is  recognized,  and  of  being  carried 
off  against  her  will  by  a  husband  whom  she  loathes,  if  he  finds 
her — are  we  to  see  such  a  woman,  and  not  be  instantly  fired  by 
every  generous  emotion  of  compassion  and  indignation  to  help 
that  woman  at  the  mere  cost  of  a  few  days'  service  and  a  few 
guineas  spent  ?" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  255 

I  was  greatly  moved,  even  to  tears,  at  these  words  and  at  all 
tills  generosity,  and  I  told  him  that  I  could  not  sufficiently  thank 
him  for  all  he  had  done,  and  that  he  should  have  my  prayers 
always. 

"  I  hope  I  may,  madam,"  he  said,  smiling  strangely.  "  When 
the  ship  hath  sailed,  you  will  remember,  perhaps,  the  fate  of 
Susan  Blake,  and  whatever  may  be  your  present  discomfort  on 
board  a  rolling  ship,  say  to  yourself  that  this  is  better  than  to 
die  in  a  noisome  prison.  You  will  also  understand  that  you 
have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  respectable  merchant,  who  is 
much  more  lenient  than  Judge  Jeffreys,  and  will  not  consent  to 
the  v/asting  of  good  commercial  stuff  in  jails  and  on  gibbets." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  1  said,  "  what  doth  all  this  mean  ?" 

"  Nothing,  madam,  nothing.  I  was  only  anxious  that  you 
should  say  to  yourself,  '  Thus  and  thus  have  I  been  saved  from 
a  jail.     Such  was  Mr.  Penne's  humanity.'  " 

"  Understand  it  ?  Oh,  dear  sir,  I  repeat,  that  my  words  are 
not  strong  enough  to  express  my  gratitude." 

"  Now,  madam,  no  doubt,  your  gratitude  runs  high.  Whether 
to-morrow — " 

"  Can  I  ever  forget  ?  To-morrow  ?  To-morrow  ?  Surely, 
sir — " 

"  Well,  madam,  we  will  wait  until  to-morrow.  Meantime,  lie 
snug  and  quiet  all  day,  and  in  the  afternoon  I  will  come  for  you. 
Two  hundred  and  forty-five  pounds.  'Tis  not  a  great  sum,  but 
a  good  day's  work — a  good  day's  work — added  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  helping  a  most  unfortunate  young  gentlewoman — most 
unfortunate." 

What  did  the  good  man  mean  by  still  talking  of  the  morrow  ? 

At  half -past  twelve  the  good  woman  of  the  house  brought  me 
a  plate  of  meat  and  some  bread. 

"  So,"  she  said  (her  face  was  red,  and  I  think  she  had  been 
drinking),  "he  hath  determined  to  put  you  on  board  with  the 
rest,  I  hear." 

"  Hush  !     If  you  have  heard,  say  nothing." 

"  He  thinks  he  can  buy  my  silence.  Come,  madam,  though, 
indeed,  some  would  rather  take  their  chance  with  Judge  Jeffreys 
— they  say  he  is  a  man  who  can  be  moved  by  the  face  of  a 
woman — than  with —  Well,  as  for  my  silence,  there —  It  is 
usual,  madam,  to  compliment  the  landlady,  and  though,  I  con- 


256  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

fess,  you  arc  not  of  the  kind  wbicli  do  commonly  frequent  tliis 
house,  yet  one  may  expect — " 

"Alas,  my  good  woman,  I  have  nothing.  Mr.  Penne  has 
taken  all  my  money." 

"  What,  you  had  money  ?  And  you  gave  it  to  Mr.  Penne  ? 
You  gave  it  to  him  ?  Nay,  indeed —  Why,  in  the  place  where 
thou  art  going — " 

She  was  silent,  for  suddenly  we  heard  Mr.  Penne's  step  out- 
side.    And  he  opened  the  door. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  roughly.  "  The  captain  says  that  he  will 
weigh  anchor  in  an  hour ;  the  tide  serves,  come." 

I  hastened  to  put  on  my  hat  and  mantle. 

"  Farewell,"  I  said,  taking  the  old  woman's  hand.  "  I  have 
nothing  to  give  thee  but  my  prayers.  Mr.  Penne,  who  is  all 
goodness,  will  reward  thee  for  thy  kindness  to  me." 

"  He  all  goodness  !"  repeated  the  old  woman.  "  He  ?  why,  if 
there  is  upon  the  face  of  the  whole  earth — " 

"  Come,  child,"  Mr.  Penne  seized  my  hand  and  dragged  me 
away. 

"The  woman,"  he  said,  "hath  been  drinking.  It  is  a  bad 
habit  she  hath  contracted  of  late.  I  must  see  into  it,  and  speak 
seriously  to  her.  But  a  good  nature  at  heart ;  come,  we  must 
hasten.  You  will  be  under  the  special  care  of  the  captain.  I 
have  provided  a  boxful  of  warm  clothing  and  other  comforts. 
I  think  there  is  nothing  omitted  that  may  be  of  use.     Come." 

He  hurried  me  along  the  narrow  streets  until  we  came  to  a 
quay,  where  there  were  a  great  number  of  ships,  such  as  I  had 
never  before  seen.  On  one  of  them  the  sailors  were  running 
about  clearing  away  things,  coiling  ropes,  tossing  sacks  and 
casks  aboard  with  such  a  yo-hoing  and  noise  as  I  never  in  my 
life  heard  before. 

"  'Tis  our  ship,"  said  Mr.  Penne.  Then  he  led  me  along  a 
narrow  bridge,  formed  by  a  single  plank,  to  the  deck  of  the  ship. 
There  stood  a  gentleman  of  a  very  fierce  and  resolute  aspect, 
armed  with  a  sword  hanging  from  a  scarlet  sash,  and  a  pair  of 
pistols  in  his  belt. 

"  Captain,"  said  Mr.  Penne,  "  are  all  aboard  ?" 

"  Ay,  we  have  all  our  cargo.  And  a  pretty  crew  they  are.  Is 
this  the  last  of  them  ?     Send  her  f or'ard." 

"  Madam,"    said  Mr.  Penne,  "  suffer   me   to  lead  you  to   a 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  257 

place  whore,  until  the  ship  sails  and  the  officers  have  time  to 
take  you  to  your  cabin,  you  can  rest  and  he  out  of  the  way.  It 
is  a  rough  assemblage,  but  at  sailing  one  has  no  choice." 

Gathered  in  the  forepart  of  what  they  called  the  waist  there 
was  a  company  of  about  a  hundred  people.  Some  were  young, 
some  old ;  some  were  men,  some  women.  Some  seemed  mere 
children.  All  alike  showed  in  their  faces  the  extreme  of  misery, 
apprehension,  and  dismay. 

"  Who  are  these  ?"  I  asked. 

"  They  will  tell  you  themselves,  presently.  Madam,  farewell." 
With  that  Mr.  Penne  left  me  standing  among  this  crowd  of 
wretches,  and,  without  waiting  for  my  last  words  of  gratitude, 
hurried  away  immediately. 

I  saw  him  running  across  the  plank  to  the  quay.  Then  the 
boatswain  blew  a  shrill  whistle ;  the  plank  was  shoved  over ; 
some  ropes  were  cast  loose,  and  the  ship  began  to  move  slowly 
down  the  river  with  the  tide,  now  beginning  to  run  out,  and  a 
wind  from  the  northeast. 

I  looked  about  me.  What  Avere  all  these  people  ?  AVhy  were 
they  going  to  New  England  ?  Then,  as  the  deck  was  now  clearer, 
and  the  sailors,  1  suppose,  at  their  stations,  I  ventured  to  walk 
towards  the  after-part  of  the  ship,  with  the  intention  to  ask  the 
captain  for  my  cabin.  As  I  did  so,  a  man  stood  before  me 
armed  with  a  great  cane  which  he  brandished,  threatening  with 
a  horrid  oath  to  lay  across  my  back  if  I  ventured  any  further  aft. 

"  Prisoners,  for'ard,"  he  cried.  "  Back  you  go,  or,  by  the 
Lord !" 

"  Prisoner  ?"  I  said ;  "  I  am  no  prisoner.     I  am  a  passenger." 

"  Passenger  ?     Why,  as  for  that,  you  are  all  passengers." 

"  All  ?  who  are  these,  then  ?" 

He  informed  me  with  plainness  of  ^eech  who  and  what  they 
were ;  convicts  taken  from  the  prisons,  branded  in  the  hand, 
and  sentenced  to  transportation. 

"  But  I  am  a  passenger,"  I  repeated.  "  Mr.  Penne  hath  paid 
for  my  passage  to  New  England.     He  hath  paid  the  captain." 

"  The  ship  is  bound  for  Barbadoes,  not  New  England.  'Tis 
my  duty  not  to  stir  from  this  spot,  but  here's  the  mate,  tell 
him." 

This  was  a  young  man  armed  like  the  captain,  with  pistols 
and  sword. 

R 


258  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  "  I  am  a  passenger  brought  on  board  by  Mr. 
Peuue,  whose  passage  hath  been  paid  to  New  England." 

''  By  Mr.  George  Penne,  you  say  ?" 

"  The  same.  He  hath  engaged  a  cabin  for  me,  and  hath  pur- 
chased clothes  and — " 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  the  mate,  "that  you  do  not  know  where 
you  are,  and  whither  you  are  going?" 

"  I  am  going,  under  the  special  care  of  the  captain,  to  the  city 
of  Boston  in  New  England,  to  my  cousin  Mr.  Eykin,  a  gentle- 
man of  credit  and  substance  of  that  town." 

He  gazed  at  me  with  wonder. 

"  I  will  speak  to  the  captain,"  he  said,  and  left  me  standing  there. 

Presently  he  returned.     "  Come  with  me,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  Grace  Eykin,"  said  the  captain,  who  had  with  him 
a  paper  from  which  he  read. 

"  That  is  my  name." 

"  On  a  certain  day  in  July,  your  father  being  a  preacher  in 
the  army  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  you  walked  with  a  pro- 
cession of  girls  bearing  flags  which  you  presented  to  that  rebel." 

"  It  is  true,  sir." 

"  You  have  been  given  by  the  king  to  some  great  lord  or 
other,  I  know  not  whom,  and  by  him  sold  to  the  man  Penne, 
who  hath  put  you  on  board  this  ship,  the  Jolly  Thatcher,  port 
of  London,  to  be  conveyed,  with  a  hundred  prisoners,  all  rogues 
and  thieves,  to  the  island  of  Barbadoes,  where  you  will  presently 
be  sold  as  a  servant  for  ten  years,  after  which  period,  if  you 
choose,  you  will  be  at  liberty  to  return  to  England." 

Then,  indeed,  the  captain  before  me  seemed  to  reel  about, 
and  I  fell  faintinir  at  his  feet. 


CHAPTEPt  XXXIV. 

THE     GOOD     SAMARITAN. 


This  was  indeed  the  truth ;  I  had  parted  with  my  money  on 
the  word  of  a  villain  ;  I  put  myself  into  his  power  by  telling 
him  the  whole  of  my  sad  story  ;  and  on  the  promise  of  sending 
me  by  ship  to  my  cousins  in  New  England,  he  had  entered  my 
name  as  a  rebel  sold  to  himself  (afterwards  I  learned  that  he 


"C?**,*,,^  ^"^g^  ^ 


'  When  I  came  to  my  senses,  the  captain  gave  me  a  glass  of  cordial  and  made 
ms  sit  down  on  a  gun-carriage." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  259 

made  it  appear  as  if  1  was  one  of  tlie  hundred  given  to  Mr. 
Jerome  Nipbo,  all  of  whom  he  afterwards  bought  and  sent  to 
the  plantations),  and  he  had  then  shipped  me  on  board  a  vessel 
on  the  point  of  sailing  with  as  vile  a  company  of  rogues,  vaga- 
bonds, thieves,  and  drabs  as  were  ever  raked  together  out  of  the 
streets  and  the  prisons. 

When  I  came  to  my  senses  the  captain  gave  me  a  glass  of 
cordial,  and  made  me  sit  down  on  a  gun-carriage  while  he  asked 
m.e  many  questions.  I  answered  them  all  truthfully,  conceal- 
ing only  the  reason  of  my  flight,  and  of  my  visit  to  Taunton, 
where,  I  told  him  truly,  I  hoped  to  see  my  unhappy  friend,  Miss 
Blake,  of  whose  imprisonment  and  death  I  knew  nothing. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  captain,  stroking  his  chin,  "  your  case  is 
indeed  a  hard  one.  Yet  your  name  is  entered  on  my  list,  and  I 
must  deliver  your  body  at  St.  Michael's  port,  Barbadoes,  or  ac- 
count for  its  absence.  This  must  1  do  ;  I  have  no  other  choice. 
As  for  your  being  sold  to  Mr.  George  Penne  by  Mr.  Jerome 
Nipho,  this  may  very  well  be  without  your  knowing  even  that 
you  had  been  given  to  that  gentleman  by  the  king.  They  say 
that  the  maids  of  Taunton  have  all  been  given  away,  mostly  to 
the  queen's  maids  of  honor,  and  must  either  be  redeemed  at  a 
great  price,  or  be  sold  as  you  have  been.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  may  be  villainy  ;  and  in  this  case  it  might  be  dangerous 
for  you  to  move  in  the  matter  lest  you  be  apprehended,  and  sent 
to  jail  as  a  rebel,  and  so  a  worse  fate  happen  unto  you." 

He  then  went  on  to  tell  me  that  this  pretended  merchant, 
this  Mr.  George  Penne,  was  the  most  notorious  kidnapper  in  the 
whole  of  Bristol ;  that  he  was  always  raking  the  prisons  of 
rogues,  and  sending  them  abroad  for  sale  on  the  plantations ; 
that  at  this  time  he  was  looking  to  make  a  great  profit  because 
there  were  so  many  prisoners  that  all  could  not  be  hanged,  but 
most  must  be  either  flogged  and  sent  about  their  business,  or 
else  sold  to  him  and  his  like,  for  servitude.  "  As  for  any  money 
paid  for  your  passage,"  he  went  on,  "  I  assure  you,  madam, 
upon  my  honor,  that  nothing  at  all  has  been  paid  by  him,  nor 
has  he  provided  you  with  any  change  of  clothing,  or  provisions 
of  any  kind  for  the  voyage ;  nor  hath  he  asked  or  bargained  for 
any  better  treatment  of  you  on  board  than  is  given  to  the  rogues 
below,  and  that,  madam,"  he  added,  "  is  food  of  the  coarsest, 
and  planks,  for  sleep,  of  the  hardest.     The  letter  which  you 


260  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

have  shown  mc  is  a  mere  trick.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any 
such  person  in  Boston  ;  it  is  true,  however,  tliat  there  is  a  family 
of  your  name  in  Boston,  and  that  they  are  substantial  mer- 
cliants.  I  make  no  doubt  that  as  he  hath  treated  you,  so  he 
will  treat  your  friends,  and  that  all  the  money  which  he  has 
taken  from  you  will  remain  in  his  own  pocket." 

"  Then,"  I  cried,  "  what  am  I  to  do  ?    Where  look  for  help  ?" 

"'Tis  the  damnedest  villain!"  cried  the  captain,  swearing  after 
the  profane  way  of  sailors.  "  When  next  I  put  in  at  the  port  of 
Bristol,  if  the  Monmouth  scare  be  over,  I  will  take  care  that  all 
the  world  shall  know  what  he  hath  done.  But,  indeed,  he  will 
not  care.  The  respectable  merchants  have  nothing  to  say  with 
him ;  he  is  now  an  open  Catholic,  who  was  formerly  concealed 
in  that  religion.  Therefore  he  thinks  his  fortune  is  at  the  flood. 
But  what  is  to  be  done,  madam  ?" 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  know  not." 

He  considered  awhile.  His  face  was  rough,  and  colored  like 
a  ripe  plum  with  the  wind  and  the  sun ;  but  he  looked  honest, 
and  he  did  not,  like  Mr.  Penne,  pretend  to  shed  tears  over  my 
misfortunes. 

*' Those  who  join  rebellions,"  he  said,  but  not  unkindly,  "gen- 
erally find  themselves  out  in  their  reckoning  in  the  end.  What 
the  deuce  have  gentlewomen  to  do  with  the  pulling  down  of 
kings?  I  warrant,  now,  you  thought  you  were  doing  a  grand 
thing,  and  so  you  must  needs  go  walking  with  those  pretty  fools 
the  maids  of  Taunton;  well, 'tis  past  praying  for;  George  Penne 
is  such  a  villain  that  keel-hauling  is  too  good  for  him.  Flogged 
through  the  fleet  at  Spithead  he  should  be.  Madam,  I  am  not 
one  who  favors  rebels ;  yet  you  cannot  sleep  and  mess  with  the 
scum  down  yonder.  'Twould  be  worse  than  inhuman — their 
talk  and  their  manners  w^ould  kill  you.  There  is  a  cabin  aft 
which  you  can  have ;  the  furniture  is  mean,  but  it  will  be  your 
own ;  while  you  are  aboard  you  shall  mess  at  my  table  if  you 
will  so  honor  me.  You  shall  have  the  liberty  of  the  quarter- 
deck. I  will  also  find  for  you,  if  I  can,  among  the  women 
aboard,  one  somewhat  less  villainous  than  the  rest,  who  shall  be 
your  grumeta,  as  the  Spaniards  say ;  your  servant,  that  is,  to 
keep  your  cabin  clean,  and  do  your  bidding.  AVhen  w^e  make 
Barbadoes  there  is  no  help  for  it  but  you  must  go  ashore  with 
the  rest  and  take  your  chance." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  261 

This  was  truly  generous  of  the  captain,  and  I  thanked  liim 
with  all  my  heart.  lie  proved  as  good  as  his  word,  for  though 
he  was  a  hard  man,  who  duly  maintained  discipline,  flogging  his 
prisoners  with  rigor,  he  treated  me  during  the  whole  voyage 
with  kindness  and  pity,  never  forgetting  daily  to  curse  the  name 
of  George  Penne,  and  to  drink  to  his  confusion. 

The  voyage  lasted  six  weeks.  At  first  we  had  rough  weather, 
with  heavy  seas  and  rolling  waves.  Happily  I  was  not  made 
sick  by  the  motion  of  the  ship,  and  could  always  stand  upon  the 
deck  and  look  at  the  waves  (a  spectacle,  to  my  mind,  the  grand- 
est in  the  whole  world).  But  I  fear  there  was  much  suffering 
among  the  poor  wretches,  my  fellow-prisoners.  They  were  hud- 
dled and  crowded  together  below  the  deck ;  they  were  all  sea- 
sick ;  there  was  no  doctor  to  relieve  their  sufferings,  nor  were 
there  any  medicines  for  those  who  were  ill.  Fever  presently 
broke  out  among  them,  so  that  we  buried  nine  in  the  first  fort- 
night of  our  voyage.  After  this,  the  weather  growing  warm 
and  the  sea  moderating,  the  sick  mended  rapidly  and  soon  all 
were  well  again. 

I  used  to  stand  upon  the  quarter-deck  and  look  at  them  gath- 
ered in  the  waist  below.  Never  had  I  seen  such  a  company. 
They  came,  I  heard,  principally  from  London,  which  is  the  ren- 
dezvous or  headquarters  of  all  the  rogues  in  the  country.  They 
were  all  in  rags ;  had  any  one  among  them  possessed  a  decent 
coat  it  would  have  been  snatched  from  his  back  the  very  first 
day ;  they  were  dirty  from  the  beginning ;  many  of  them  had 
cuts  and  wounds  on  their  heads  gotten  in  their  fights  and  quar- 
rels, and  these  were  bound  about  with  old  clouts ;  their  faces 
were  not  fresh  colored  and  rosy  like  the  faces  of  our  honest 
country  lads,  but  pale  and  sometimes  covered  with  red  blotches 
caused  by  their  evil  lives  and  their  hard  drinking ;  on  their  fore- 
heads was  clearly  set  the  seal  of  Satan.  Never  did  I  behold 
wickedness  so  manifestly  stamped  upon  the  human  countenance. 
They  were  like  monkeys  for  their  knavish  and  thievish  tricks. 
They  stole  everything  that  they  could  lay  hands  upon ;  pieces 
of  rope,  the  sailors'  knives  when  they  could  get  them,  even  the 
marlin  spikes,  if  they  were  left  about.  When  they  were  caught 
and  flogged  they  would  make  the  ship  terrible  with  their  shrieks, 
being  cowards  as  prodigious  as  they  were  thieves.  They  lay 
about  all  day,  ragged  and  dirty,  on  deck  in  the  place  assigned  to 


262  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

them,  stupidly  sleeping,  or  else  silent  and  dumpish,  except  for 
some  of  the  young  fellows  who  gambled  with  cards,  I  know  not 
for  what  stakes,  and  quarrelled  over  the  game  and  fought.  It 
was  an  amusement  among  the  sailors  to  make  these  lads  fight 
on  the  forecastle,  promising  a  pannikin  of  rum  to  the  victor.  For 
this  miserable  prize  they  would  fight  with  the  greatest  fury  and 
desperation,  even  biting  one  another  in  their  rage,  while  the  sail- 
ors clapped  their  hands  and  encouraged  them.  Pity  it  is  that 
the  common  sort  do  still  delight  themselves  with  sport  so  brutal. 
On  shore  these  fellows  would  be  rejoicing  in  cock-fights  and 
bull-baitings ;  on  board  they  baited  the  prisoners. 

There  were  among  the  prisoners  twenty  or  thirty  women,  the 
sweepings  of  the  Bristol  streets.  They,  too,  would  fight  as  I'eadily 
as  the  men  until  the  captain  forbade  it  under  penalty  of  a  flog- 
ging. These  women  were  to  the  full  as  wicked  as  the  men ; 
nay,  their  language  was  worse,  insomuch  that  the  very  sailors 
would  stand  aghast  to  hear  the  blaspliemies  they  uttered,  and 
would  even  remonstrate  yv'iih  them,  saying,  "  Nan,"  or  "  Poll " — 
they  were  all  Polls  and  Nans — "  'tis  enough  to  cause  the  ship 
to  be  struck  with  lightning.  Give  over  now  ;  wilt  sink  the  ship's 
company  with  your  foul  tongue  ?"  But  the  promise  of  a  flog- 
ging kept  them  from  fighting.  Men,  I  think,  will  brave  anything 
for  a  moment's  gratification,  but  not  even  the  most  hardened 
woman  will  willingly  risk  the  pain  of  the  whip. 

The  captain  told  me  that  of  these  convicts,  of  whom  every 
year  whole  ship-loads  are  taken  to  Virginia,  to  Jamaica,  and  to 
Barbadoes,  not  one  in  a  hundred  ever  returns.  "  For,"  he  said, 
"  the  work  exacted  from  them  is  so  severe,  with  so  much  ex- 
posure to  a  burning  sun,  and  the  fare  is  so  hard,  that  they  fall 
into  fevers  and  calentures,  and  besides  the  dangers  from  the 
heat  and  the  bad  food  there  is  a  drink  called  rum,  or  arrack, 
which  is  distilled  from  the  juice  of  the  sugar-cane,  and  another 
drink  called  mobbie,  distilled  from  potatoes,  which  inflames  their 
blood  and  causes  many  to  die  before  their  time.  Moreover,  the 
laws  are  harsh,  and  there  is  too  much  flogging  and  branding  and 
hanging.  So  that  some  fall  into  despair,  and  in  that  condition 
of  mind  die  under  the  first  illness  which  seizes  on  them." 

"  Captain,"  I  said,  "  you  forget  that  I  am  also  to  become  one 
of  these  poor  wretches." 

The  captain  swore  lustily  that  on  his  return  he  would  seek 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  263 

out  the  villain  Penne  and  break  his  neck  for  him.  Then  he  as- 
sured me  that  the  diiierence  between  myself  and  the  common 
herd  would  be  immediately  recognized,  that  a  rebel  is  not  a  thief, 
and  must  not  be  so  treated,  and  that  I  had  nothing  to  fear ;  nay, 
that  he  himself  would  say  what  he  could  in  my  favor.  But  he 
entreated  me  with  the  utmost  vehemence  to  send  home  an  ac- 
count of  where  I  was  and  what  I  was  enduring  to  such  of  my 
friends  as  might  have  either  money  to  relieve  me  from  servi- 
tude or  interest  to  procure  a  pardon.  Alas !  I  had  no  friends. 
Mr.  Boscorel,  I  knew  full  well,  would  move  heaven  and  earth  to 
help  me.  But  he  could  not  do  that  without  his  son  finding  out 
where  I  was,  and  this  thought  so  moved  me  that  I  implored  the 
captain  to  tell  no  one  who  I  was  or  what  was  my  history,  and 
for  greater  persuasion  I  revealed  to  him  those  parts  of  my  his- 
tory which  I  had  hitherto  concealed,  naming  my  marriage,  and 
the  reason  of  that  rash  step  and  my  flight. 

"  Madam,"  he  said, ''  I  would  that  I  had  the  power  of  reveng- 
ing these  foul  wrongs.  For  them,  I  swear,  I  would  kidnap  both 
Mr.  George  Penne  and  Mr.  Benjamin  Boscorel,  and,  look  you,  I 
would  make  them  mess  with  the  scum  and  the  sweepings  whom 
we  carry  for'ard;  and  I  would  sell  them  to  the  most  inhuman 
of  the  planters,  by  whom  they  would  be  daily  beaten  and  cuffed 
and  flogged ;  or,  better  still,  would  cause  them  to  be  sold  at  Havana 
to  the  Spaniards,  where  they  would  be  employed,  as  are  the  Eng- 
lish prisoners  commonly  by  that  cruel  people,  namely,  in  fetch- 
ing water  under  negro  overseers.  I  leave  you  to  imagine  how 
long  they  would  live  and  what  terrible  treatment  they  would 
receive." 

So  it  was  certain  that  I  was  going  to  a  place  where  I  must 
look  for  very  little  mercy  unless  I  could  buy  it,  and  where  the 
white  servant  was  regarded  as  worth  so  many  years  of  work  ;  not 
so  much  as  a  negro,  because  he  doth  sooner  sink  under  the  hard- 
ships of  his  lot,  while  the  negro  continues  frolick  and  lusty,  and 
marries  and  has  children,  even  though  he  has  to  toil  all  day  in 
the  sun,  and  is  flogged  continually  to  make  him  work  with  the 
greater  heart. 

Among  the  women  on  board  was  a  young  woman,  not  more 
than  eighteen  or  thereabout,  who  was  called  Deb.  She  had  no 
other  name.  Her  birthplace  she  knew  not,  but  she  had  run 
about  the  country  with  some  tinkers,  whose  language,  she  said,  is 


264  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

called  Shelta  by  tliose  people.  This  she  could  still  talk.  They 
sold  her  in  Bristol,  after  which  her  history  is  one  which  I  learn 
is  common  in  towns.  When  the  captain  bade  her  come  to  the 
cabin,  and  ordered  her  to  obey  me  in  whatsoever  I  commanded, 
she  looked  stupidly  at  him,  shrinking  from  him  if  he  moved,  as 
if  she  were  accustomed  (which  was  indeed  the  case)  to  be  beaten 
at  every  word.  I  made  her  first  clean  herself  and  wash  her 
clothes.  This  done  she  slept  in  my  cabin,  and,  as  the  captain 
promised,  became  my  servant.  At  first  she  Avas  not  only  afraid 
of  ill-treatment,  but  she  would  wilfully  lie  ;  she  purloined  things 
and  hid  them ;  she  told  me  so  many  tales  about  her  past  life, 
all  of  them  different,  that  I  could  believe  none.  Yet  when  she 
presently  found  out  that  I  was  not  going  to  beat  her,  and  that 
the  captain  did  never  offer  to  cuff  or  kick  her  (which  the  poor 
wretch  expected),  she  left  off  telling  falsehoods  and  became  as 
handy,  obliging,  and  useful  a  creature  as  one  could  desire.  She 
was  a  great  strapping  girl,  black  eyed  and  with  black  hair,  as 
strong  as  any  man,  and  a  good-looking  creature  as  well  to  those 
who  like  great  women. 

This  Deb,  when,  I  say,  she  ceased  to  be  afraid  of  me,  began 
to  tell  me  her  true  history,  which  was,  I  suppose,  only  remark- 
able because  she  seemed  not  to  know  that  it  was  shameful  and 
wicked.  She  lived,  as  the  people  among  whom  she  had  been 
brought  up  lived,  w'ithout  the  least  sense  or  knowledge  of  God. 
Indeed,  no  heathen  savage  could  be  more  without  religion  than 
the  tinkers  and  gypsies  on  the  road.  They  have  no  knowledge 
at  all ;  they  are  born  ;  they  live  ;  they  die  ;  they  are  buried  in  a| 
hedgeside  and  are  forgotten.  It  was  surj)rising  to  me  to  find 
that  any  woman  could  grow  up  in  a  Christian  country  so  igno- 
rant and  so  uncared  for.  In  the  end  she  showed  every  mark  of 
penitence  and  fell  into  a  godly  and  pious  life. 

My  captain  continued  in  the  same  kindness  towards  me  through- 
out the  voyage,  suffering  me  to  mess  at  his  table,  where  the  pro- 
visions were  plain  but  wholesome,  and  encouraging  me  to  talk 
to  him,  taking  pleasure  in  my  simple  conversation.  In  the  morn- 
ings Avhen,  with  a  fair  wind  and  full  sail  the  ship  ploughed 
through  the  Avater,  while  the  sun  was  hot  overhead,  he  Avould 
make  me  a  seat  Avith  a  pillow  in  the  shade,  and  Avould  then  en- 
treat me  to  tell  him  about  the  rebellion  and  our  flight  to  Black 
Down.     Or  he  would  encourage  me  in  serious  talk  (though  his 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  265 

own  conversation  with  his  sailors  was  overmuch  garnished  with 
profane  oaths),  listening  with  grave  face.  And  sometimes  he 
would  ask  me  questions  about  the  village  of  Bradford  Orcas,  my 
mother  and  her  wlieel,  Sir  Christopher  and  the  rector,  showing 
a  wonderful  interest  in  everything  that  I  told  him.  It  was 
strange  to  see  how  this  man,  hard  as  he  was  with  the  prisoners 
(whom  it  was  necessary  to  terrify,  otherwise  they  might  mutiny), 
could  be  so  gentle  towards  me,  a  stranger,  and  a  costly  one  too, 
because  he  was  at  the  expense  of  maintaining  me  for  the  whole 
voyage,  and  the  whole  time  being  of  good  manners,  never  rude 
or  rough,  or  offering  the  least  freedom  or  familiarity,  a  thing 
which  a  woman  in  my  defenceless  position  naturally  fears.  He 
could  not  have  shown  more  respect  unto  a  queen. 

One  evening  at  sunset,  when  we  had  been  at  sea  six  weeks,  he 
came  to  me  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  pointed  to 
what  seemed  a  cloud  in  the  west.  "  'Tis  the  island  of  Barba- 
does,"  he  said.  "  To-morrow,  if  this  wind  keeps  fair,  we  shall 
make  the  port  of  St.  Michael's,  which  some  call  the  Bridge,  and 
then,  madam,  alas  !" — he  fetched  a  deep  sigh — "  I  must  put  you 
ashore  and  part  with  the  sweetest  companion  that  ever  sailed 
across  the  ocean." 

He  said  no  more,  but  left  me  as  if  he  had  other  things  to  say 
but  stifled  them.  Presently  the  sun  went  down  and  darkness 
fell  upon  the  waters ;  the  wind  also  fell  and  the  sea  was  smooth, 
so  that  there  was  a  great  silence.  "  To-morrow,"  I  thought, 
"  we  shall  reach  the  port,  and  I  shall  be  landed  with  these 
wretches  and  sent  perhaps  to  toil  in  the  fields."  But  yet  my 
soul  was  upheld  by  the  vision  which  had  been  granted  to  me 
upon  the  Black  Down  hills,  and  I  feared  nothing.  This  I  can 
say  without  boasting,  because  I  had  such  weighty  reasons  for 
the  faith  that  was  in  me. 

The  captain  presently  came  back  to  me. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  suffer  me  to  open  my  mind  to  you." 

"  Sir,"  I  told  him,  "  there  is  nothing  which  I  could  refuse  you 
saving  my  honor." 

"  I  must  confess,"  he  said, "  I  have  been  torn  in  twain  for 
love  of  you,  madam,  ever  since  you  did  me  the  honor  to  mess 
at  my  table — nay,  hear  me  out — and  I  have  been  minded  a  thou- 
sand times  to  assure  you,  first,  that  your  marriage  is  no  marriage, 
and  that  you  have  not  indeed  any  husband  at  all ;  next,  that 
12 


266  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

since  you  can  never  go  back  to  your  old  sweetlieart,  'tis  better 
to  find  another  who  would  protect  and  cherish  you ;  and,  third- 
ly, that  I  am  ready,  ay,  and  longing,  now  to  become  your  hus- 
band and  protector,  and  to  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul." 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  "  I  thank  you  for  telling  me  this,  which,  indeed, 
I  did  not  suspect.  But  I  am  (alas  !  as  you  know)  already  mar- 
ried (even  though  my  marriage  be  no  true  one),  and  can  never 
forget  the  love  which  I  still  must  bear  to  my  old  sweetheart. 
Wherefore  I  may  not  listen  to  any  talk  of  love." 

"  If,"  he  replied,  "  you  were  a  woman  after  the  common  pat- 
tern, you  would  right  gladly  cast  aside  the  chains  of  this  mar- 
riage ceremony.  But,  madam,  you  are  a  saint,  therefore  I  re- 
frained," he  sighed.  "  I  confess  that  I  have  been  dragged  as  by 
chains  to  lay  myself  at  your  feet.  Well,  that  must  not  be,"  he 
sighed  again  ;  "  yet  I  would  save  you,  madam,  from  the  dangers 
of  this  place.  The  merchants  and  planters  do  for  the  most  part, 
though  gentlemen  of  good  birth,  lead  debauched  and  ungodly 
lives,  and  I  fear  that  though  they  may  spare  you  the  hardships 
of  the  field,  they  may  offer  you  other  and  worse  indignities." 

I  answered  in  the  words  of  David  :  "  The  Lord  hath  delivered 
me  out  of  the  paw  of  the  lion,  and  out  of  the  paw  of  the  bear, 
he  will  deliver  me  out  of  the  hand  of  the  Philistines." 

"  Nay,  but  there  is  a  way.  You  need  not  land  at  all.  It  is 
but  a  scratch  of  the  pen,  and  I  will  enter  your  name  among 
those  who  died  upon  the  voyage.  There  will  be  no  more  in- 
quiry any  more  than  after  the  other  names,  and  then  I  can  carry 
you  back  with  me  to  the  port  of  London,  whither  I  am  bound 
after  taking  in  my  cargo." 

For  a  space  I  was  sorely  tempted.  Then  I  reflected.  It 
would  be,  I  remembered,  by  consenting  to  the  captain's  treachery 
towards  his  employers,  nothing  less,  that  I  could  escape  this  lot. 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  all  your 
kindness  and  for  your  forbearance.  But  we  may  not  consent 
together  unto  this  sin.  Again  I  thank  you.  But  I  must  suffer 
what  is  laid  upon  me." 

He  knelt  at  my  feet  and  kissed  my  hands,  saying  nothing 
more,  and  presently  I  went  to  my  cabin ;  and  so  ended  my  first 
voyage  across  the  great  Atlantic  Ocean.  In  the  morning,  when 
I  awoke,  we  were  beating  off  Carlisle  Bay,  and  I  felt  like  unto 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  267 

one  of  those  Christian  martyrs  of  whom  I  have  read,  whom  they 
were  about  to  lead  forth  and  cast  unto  the  lions. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE     WHITE     SLAVE. 


When  we  dropped  anchor  in  the  port  or  road  of  Carlisle  Bay 
wc  were  boarded  by  a  number  of  gentlemen  who  welcomed  the 
captain,  asked  him  the  news,  and  drank  with  him.  I  meantime 
kept  in  my  cabin,  knowing  that  I  must  shortly  come  forth ;  and 
presently  I  heard  the  boatswain's  pipe,  and  the  order  to  all  the 
prisoners  to  come  on  deck.  Then  one  knocked  softly  at  my 
door.     It  was  the  captain. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  with  a  troubled  voice,  "  it  is  not  too  late. 
Suffer  me,  I  pray  you,  to  enter  your  name  as  one  of  those  who 
died  on  the  voyage.  It  is  no  great  deception  ;  the  villain  Penne 
will  alone  be  hurt  by  it ;  and  I  swear  to  take  you  home,  and  to 
place  you,  until  better  times,  with  honest  and  God-fearing  peo- 
ple in  London." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  I  replied,  "  tempt  me  not,  I  pray  you.  Let  me  go 
forth  and  take  my  place  among  the  rest." 

He  entreated  me  again ;  but,  finding  that  he  could  not  pre- 
vail, he  suffered  me  to  come  out.  Yet  such  was  his  kindness  to 
the  last,  that  he  would  not  place  me  with  the  rest,  but  caused 
his  men  to  give  me  a  chair  on  the  quarter-deck.  Then  I  saw 
that  we  were  all  to  be  sold.  The  prisoners  were  drawn  up  stand- 
ing in  lines,  one  behind  the  other,  the  men  on  one  side  and  the 
women  on  the  other.  The  hardships  of  the  voyage  had  brought 
them  so  low  that,  with  their  rags  and  dirt,  and  their  dull  scowls 
and  savage  faces,  and  their  thin,  pale  cheeks,  they  presented  a 
forbidding  appearance  indeed. 

Three  or  four  gentlemen  (they  were,  I  found,  planters  of  this 
island)  were  examining  them,  ordering  them  to  lift  up  their  arms, 
stretch  out  their  legs,  open  their  mouths,  and,  in  short,  treating 
them  like  so  many  cattle,  at  which  the  women  laughed  with  rib- 
ald words,  but  the  men  looked  as  if  they  would  willingly,  if  they 
dared,  take  revenge. 

"  Faugh  I"  cried  one  of  the  planters,  "  here  is  a  goodly  collec- 


268  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

tion  indeed!  The  island  is  like  to  become  the  dust-heap  of 
Great  Britain,  where  all  the  rubbish  may  be  shot.  Captain, 
how  long  before  these  bags  of  bones  will  drop  to  pieces  ?  Well, 
sweet  ladies  and  fair  gentlemen  " — he  made  a  mock  bow  to  the 
prisoners — "  you  are  welcome.  After  the  voyage,  a  little  exer- 
cise will  do  you  good.  You  will  find  the  air  of  the  fields  whole- 
some, and  the  gentlewomen,  I  assure  you,  will  discover  that  the 
drivers  and  overseers  will  oblige  any  who  want  to  dance  with  a 
skipping-rope." 

There  were  now  twenty  or  thirty  gentlemen,  all  of  them  mer- 
chants and  planters,  on  board,  and  a  man  stepped  forward  with 
a  book  and  pencil  in  hand,  who  was,  I  perceived,  the  salesman. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "this  parcel  of  servants"  (he  called 
them  a  parcel,  as  if  they  were  a  bale  of  dry -goods)  "  is  consigned 
to  my  care  by  Mr.  George  Penne,  of  Bristol,  their  owner.  They 
are  partly  from  that  city  and  partly  from  London,  though  shipped 
at  the  port  of  Bristol.  A  tedious  voyage,  following  after  a  long 
imprisonment  in  Newgate  and  Bridewell,  hath,  it  is  true,  some- 
what reduced  them.  But  there  are  among  them,  as  you  will  find 
on  examination,  many  lusty  fellows  and  stout  wenches,  and  I 
doubt  not  that  what  you  buy  to-day  will  hereafter  prove  good 
bargains.  They  are  to  be  sold  without  reserve  and  to  the  high- 
est bidder.  Robert  Bull  " — he  read  the  first  name  on  the  list 
— "  Robert  Bull,  shoplifter.     Stand  forth,  Robert  Bull." 

There  arose  from  the  deck,  where  he  had  been  lying,  a  poor 
wretch  who  looked  as  if  he  could  hardly  stand,  Avasted  with 
fever  and  privation,  his  eyes  hollow  (yet  they  looked  full  of 
wicked  cunning).     The  planters  shook  their  heads. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  said  the  salesman,  "  we  must  not  judge 
by  appearances.  He  is  at  present,  no  doubt,  weak,  but  not  so 
weak  as  he  looks.  I  warrant  a  smart  cut  or  two  of  the  whip 
would  show  another  man.     Who  bids  for  Robert  Bull  ?" 

He  was  sold,  after  a  little  parley,  for  the  sum  of  five  pounds. 
Then  the  speaker  called  another,  naming  his  offence  as  a  qualifi- 
cation. No  pillory  could  be  more  shameful.  Yet  the  men  looked 
dogged  and  the  women  laughed. 

The  sale  lasted  for  three  or  four  hours,  the  prisoners  being 
knocked  down,  as  they  say,  for  various  sums,  the  greatest  price 
being  given  for  those  women  who  were  young  and  strong.  The 
reason  (1  have  been  told)  is  that  the  women  make  better  ser- 


FOR  FAtTH  AND  FREEDOM.  269 

vants,  endure  the  lieat  more  patiently,  do  not  commonly  drink 
the  strong  spirit  which  destroys  the  men,  and  though  they  are 
not  so  strong,  do  more  work. 

Last  of  all  the  men  called  my  name.  "  Grace  Eykin,  rebel. 
Stand  forth,  Grace  Eykin." 

"Do  not  go  down  among  them,"  said  the  captain.  "Let 
them  see  at  once  that  yours  is  no  common  case.     Stand  here." 

He  led  me  to  the  top  of  the  ladder  or  steps,  which  they  call 
the  companion,  leading  from  the  waist  to  the  quarter-deck. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  it  will  be  best  to  throw  back  your  hood." 

This  I  did,  and  so  stood  before  them  all  bareheaded. 

Oh,  you  who  are  women  of  gentle  nurture,  think  of  such  a 
thing  as  thus  to  stand  exposed  to  the  curious  gaze  of  rough  and 
ribald  men ;  to  be  bought  and  sold  like  a  horse  or  an  ox  at  the 
fair.  At  first  my  eyes  swam,  and  I  saw  nothing,  and  should 
have  fallen,  but  the  captain  placed  his  hand  upon  my  arm,  and 
so  I  was  steadied.  Then  my  sight  cleared,  and  I  could  look 
down  upon  the  faces  of  the  men  below.  There  was  no  place 
whither  I  could  fly  and  hide ;  it  would  be  more  shameful  still 
(because  it  might  make  them  laugh)  to  burst  into  tears.  Why, 
I  thought,  why  had  I  not  accepted  the  captain's  offer,  and  suf- 
fered my  name  to  be  entered  as  one  of  those  who  had  died  on 
the  voyage  and  been  buried  in  the  sea  ? 

Down  in  the  waist  the  gentlemen  gazed  and  gasped  in  aston- 
ishment. It  was  no  new  thing  for  the  planters  to  buy  political 
prisoners.  Oliver  Cromwell  sent  over  a  ship-load  of  Irishmen 
first,  and  another  ship-load  of  those  engaged  in  the  rising  of 
Penruddock  and  Grove  (among  them  were  gentlemen,  divines, 
and  oflicers,  of  whom  a  few  yet  survived  on  the  island).  But  as 
yet  no  gentlewoman  at  all  had  been  sent  out  for  political  rea- 
sons. Therefore,  I  suppose,  they  looked  so  amazed,  and  gazed 
first  at  me  and  then  at  one  another  and  then  gasped  for  breath. 

"  Grace  Eykin,  gentlemen,"  said  the  salesman,  who  had  a  tongue 
which,  as  they  say,  ran  upon  wheels,  "  is  a  young  gentlewoman, 
the  daughter,  I  am  informed,  of  the  Rev.  Comfort  Eykin,  Doc- 
tor of  Divinity,  deceased,  formerly  Rector  of  Bradford  Orcas  in 
the  County  of  Somerset,  and  sometime  fellow  of  his  college  at 
Oxford,  a  very  learned  divine.  She  hath  had  the  misfortune  to 
have  taken  part  in  the  Monmouth  rebellion,  and  was  one  of  those 
maids  of  Taunton  who  gave  the  duke  his  flags,  as  you  have  heard 


270  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

by  the  latest  advices.  Therefore  she  is  sent  abroad  for  a  term 
of  ten  years.  Gentlemen,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  her  rela- 
tions will  not  endure  that  this  young  lady,  as  beautiful  as  she  is 
unfortunate,  and  as  tender  as  she  is  beautiful,  should  be  exposed 
to  the  same  hard  treatment  as  the  rogues  and  thieves  whom  you 
have  just  had  put  up  for  sale.  They  will,  I  am  privately  assured  " 
— I  heard  this  statement  with  amazement — "  gladly  purchase  her 
freedom ;  after  which,  unless  she  is  permitted  to  return,  the  so- 
ciety of  our  colony  will  rejoice  in  the  residence  among  them  of 
one  so  lovely  and  so  accomplished.  Meantime  she  must  be  sold 
like  the  rest." 

"  Did  Monmouth  make  war  with  women  for  his  followers  ?" 
asked  a  gentleman  of  graver  aspect  than  most.  "  I,  for  one, 
will  have  no  part  or  share  in  such  traffic.  Are  English  gentle- 
women, because  their  friends  are  rebels,  to  be  sent  into  the  fields 
with  the  negroes  ?" 

"  Your  wife  would  be  jealous,"  said  another ;  and  then  they 
all  laughed. 

I  understood  not,  until  afterwards,  that  the  buying  and  sell- 
ing of  such  a  person  as  I  appeared  to  be  is  a  kind  of  gambling. 
That  is  to  say,  the  buyer  hopes  to  get  his  profit,  not  by  any 
work  that  his  servant  should  do,  but  by  the  ransom  that  his 
friends  at  home  should  offer.  And  so  they  began  to  bid,  with 
jokes  rude  and  unseemly,  and  much  laughter  while  I  stood  be- 
fore them,  still  bareheaded. 

"  Ten  pounds,"  one  began.  "  Twelve,"  cried  another.  <'  Fif- 
teen," said  a  third,  and  so  on,  the  price  continually  rising — and 
the  salesman,  with  honeyed  tongue,  continually  declaring  that 
my  friends  (as  he  very  well  knew)  would  consent  to  give  any 
ransom,  any,  so  only  that  1  was  set  free  from  servitude — until, 
for  sixty  pounds,  no  one  offering  a  higher  price,  I  was  sold  to 
one  whose  appearance  I  liked  the  least  of  any.  He  was  a  gross, 
fat  man,  with  puffed  cheeks  and  short  neck,  who  had  bought 
already  about  twenty  of  the  servants. 

"  Be  easy,"  he  said,  to  one  who  asked  him  how  he  looked  to 
get  his  money  back.  "It  is  not  for  twice  sixty  pounds  that  I 
will  consent  to  let  her  go.  What  is  twice  sixty  pounds  for  a 
lovely  piece  like  this  ?" 

Then  the  captain,  who  had  stood  beside  me  saying  nothing, 
interfered. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  271 

*'  Madam,"  lie  said,  "  you  can  put  up  your  hood  again.  And 
liark  ye,  sir" — he  spoke  to  the  planter — "remember  that  this 
is  a  pious  and  virtuous  gentlewoman,  and  " — here  he  swore  a 
round  oath — "  if  I  hear,  when  I  make  this  port  again,  that  you 
have  oflEered  her  the  least  freedom,  you  shall  answer  to  me  for 
it.  Gentlemen  all,"  he  went  on,  "  I  verily  believe  that  you  will 
shortly  have  the  greatest  windfall  that  hath  ever  happened  to 
you,  compared  with  which  the  Salisbury  rising  was  but  a  flea- 
bite.  For  the  trials  of  the  Monmouth  rebels  were  already  be- 
gun when  I  left  the  port  of  Bristol,  and  though  the  judges  are 
sentencing  all  alike  to  death,  they  cannot  hang  them  all,  there- 
fore his  majesty's  plantations,  and  Barbadoes  in  particular,  will 
not  only  have  whole  cargoes  of  stout  and  able-bodied  servants, 
compared  with  whom  these  poor  rogues  are  like  so  many  worth- 
less weeds,  but  there  will  also  be  many  gentlemen,  and  perhaps 
gentlewomen,  like  madam  here,  whose  freedom  will  be  bought 
of  you.  So  that  I  earnestly  advise  and  entreat  you  not  to  treat 
them  cruelly,  but  with  gentleness  and  forbearance,  whereby  you 
will  be  the  gainers  in  the  end,  and  will  make  their  friends  the 
readier  to  find  the  price  of  ransom.  Moreover,  you  must  re- 
member that,  though  gentlemen  may  be  flogged  at  whipping- 
posts and  beat  over  the  head  with  canes,  as  is  your  habit  with 
servants  both  black  and  white,  when  the  time  of  their  de- 
liverance arrives  they  will  be  no  longer  slaves,  but  gentlemen 
again,  and  able  once  more  to  stand  upon  the  point  of  honor, 
and  to  run  you  through  the  body,  as  you  will  richly  deserve  for 
your  barbarity.  And  in  the  same  way  any  gentlewomen  who 
may  be  sent  here  have  brothers  and  cousins  who  will  be  ready 
to  perform  the  same  act  of  kindness  on  their  behalf.  Remem- 
ber that  very  carefully,  gentlemen,  if  you  please." 

The  captain  spoke  to  all  the  gentlemen  present,  but  in  the 
last  words  he  addressed  himself  particularly  unto  my  new  mas- 
ter. It  was  a  warning  likely  to  be  very  serviceable,  the  planters 
being  one  and  all  notoriously  addicted  to  beating  and  whipping 
their  servants.  And  I  have  no  doubt  that  these  words  did  a 
great  deal  towards  assuring  for  the  unfortunate  gentlemen  who 
presently  arrived  such  consideration  and  good  treatment  as  they 
would  not  otherwise  have  received. 

The  island  of  Barbadoes,  as  many  people  know,  is  one  of  the 
Caribby  Islands.     It  is,  as  to  size,  a  small  place,  not  more  than 


272  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

twenty  miles  in  length  by  fifteen  in  breadth,  but  in  population 
it  is  a  very  considerable  place  indeed,  for  it  is  said  to  have  as 
many  people  in  it  as  the  city  of  Bristol.  It  is  completely  set- 
tled, and  of  the  former  inhabitants  not  one  is  left.  They  were 
the  people  called  Indians,  or  Caribs,  and  how  they  perished  I 
know  not.  The  island  hath  four  ports,  of  which  the  principal 
is  that  of  St.  Michael,  or  the  Bridge,  or  Bridgetown,  in  Carlisle 
Bay.  The  heat  by  day  is  very  great,  and  there  is  no  winter,  but 
summer  all  the  year  round.  There  is,  however,  a  cool  breeze 
from  the  sea,  which  moderates  the  heat.  A  great  number  of 
vessels  call  here  every  year  (there  is  said  to  be  one  every  day, 
but  this  I  cannot  believe).  They  bring  to  the  island  all  kinds 
of  European  manufactures,  and  take  away  with  them  cargoes  of 
Muscovada  sugar,  cotton,  ginger,  and  logwood.  The  island  hath 
its  shores  covered  with  plantations,  being  (the  people  say)  al- 
ready more  thickly  cultivated  than  any  part  of  England,  with 
fewer  waste  places,  commons,  and  the  like.  The  fruits  which 
grow  here  are  plentiful  and  delicious,  such  as  the  pineapple,  the 
papaw,  the  guava,  the  bonannow,  and  the  like ;  but  they  are 
not  for  the  servants  and  the  slaves.  The  fertility  of  the  country 
is  truly  astonishing ;  and  the  air,  though  full  of  moisture,  where- 
by knives  and  tools  of  all  kinds  quickly  rust  and  spoil,  is  consid- 
ered more  healthy  than  that  of  any  other  West  Indian  island. 
But  for  the  poor  creatures  who  have  to  toil  in  the  hot  sun  the 
air  is  full  of  fatigue  and  thirst ;  it  is  laden  with  fevers,  calent- 
ures, and  sunstrokes.  Death  is  always  in  their  midst ;  and  after 
death,  whatever  awaits  them  cannot  be  much  worse  than  their 
condition  on  the  island. 

After  the  sale  was  finished  the  captain  bade  me  farewell  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  and  we  were  taken  into  boats  and  conveyed 
ashore,  I,  for  my  part,  sitting  beside  my  purchaser,  who  ad- 
dressed no  word  at  all  to  me.  I  was,  however,  pleased  to  find 
that  among  the  people  whom  he  had  bought  was  the  girl  Deb, 
who  had  been  my  maid  (if  a  woman  who  is  a  convict  may  have 
a  maid  who  is  a  sister  convict).  When  we  landed  we  walked 
from  the  quay  or  landing-place  to  a  great  building  like  a  barn, 
which  is  called  a  barracoon,  in  which  are  lodged  the  negro  slaves 
and  servants  before  they  go  to  their  masters.  But  at  this  tiriie 
it  was  empty.  Hither  came  presently  a  certain  important  per- 
son in  a  great  wig  and  a  black  coat,  followed  by  two  negro  bea- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  273 

dies,  and  carrying  a  long  cane  or  stick.  After  commanding 
silence,  this  otiicer  read  to  us  in  a  loud  voice  those  laws  of  the 
colony  which  concern  servants,  and  especially  those  who,  like 
ourselves,  are  transported  for  various  offences.  I  forget  what 
those  laws  were,  but  they  seemed  to  be  of  a  cruel  and  vindictive 
nature,  and  all  ended  with  flogging  and  extension  of  the  terra 
of  service.  I  remember,  for  instance,  because  the  thought  of 
escape  from  a  place  in  the  middle  of  the  ocean  seemed  to  me 
mad,  that,  by  the  law,  if  any  one  should  be  caught  endeavoring 
to  run  away  he  should  be  first  flogged,  and  then  made  to  serve 
three  years  after  his  term  was  expired,  and  that  no  ship  was 
allowed  to  trade  with  the  island,  or  to  put  in  for  water,  unless 
the  captain  had  given  security  with  two  inhabitants  of  the  island 
in  the  sum  of  £2000  sterling  not  to  carry  off  any  servant  without 
the  owner's  consent. 

When  these  laws  had  been  read  the  oflficer  proceeded,  further, 
to  inform  us  that  those  who  were  thus  sent  out  were  sent  to 
work  as  a  punishment ;  that  the  work  would  be  hard,  not  light ; 
and  that  those  who  shirked  their  work,  or  were  negligent  in 
their  work,  would  be  reminded  of  their  duties  in  the  manner 
common  to  plantations ;  that  if  they  tried  to  run  away  they 
would  most  certainly  be  caught,  because  the  island  was  but 
small ;  and  that  when  they  were  caught,  not  only  would  their 
term  of  years  be  increased,  but  that  they  would  most  certainly 
receive  a  dreadful  number  of  lashes.  He  added,  further,  that 
as  nothing  would  be  gained  by  malingering,  sulking,  or  laziness, 
so  on  the  other  hand  our  lot  might  be  lightened  by  cheerfulness, 
honesty,  and  zeal.  A  more  surly,  ill-conditioned  crew  I  think 
he  must  have  never  before  harangued.  They  listened,  and  on 
most  faces  I  read  the  determination  to  do  no  more  work  than 
was  forced  from  them.  This  is,  I  have  learned,  how  the  plan- 
tation servants  do  commonly  begin  ;  but  the  most  stubborn 
spirit  is  not  proof  against  the  lash  and  starvation.  Therefore, 
before  many  days  they  are  as  active  and  as  zealous  as  can  be 
desired,  and  the  white  men,  even  in  the  fields,  will  do  double 
the  work  that  can  be  got  out  of  the  black. 

Then  this  officer  went  away,  followed  by  his  beadles,  who  cast 

eyes  of  regret  upon  us,  as  if  longing  to  stay  and  exercise  their 

wands  of  office  upon  the  prisoners'  backs.     This  done,  we  were 

ordered  to  march  out.     My  master's  horse  was  waiting  for  him, 

12*  S 


274  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

led  by  a  negro,  and  two  of  liis  overseers,  also  mounted,  and  car- 
rying whips  in  tlieir  hands,  waited  his  commands.  He  spoke 
with  them  a  few  minutes,  and  then  rode  away. 

They  brought  a  long  cart,  with  a  kind  of  tilt  to  it,  drawn  by 
two  asses  (here  they  call  them  assenegoes),  and  invited  me  cour- 
teously to  get  into  it.  It  was  loaded  with  cases  and  boxes,  and 
a  negro  walked  beside  the  beasts.  Then  we  set  out  upon  our 
march.  First  walked  the  twenty  servants,  men  and  women, 
newly  bought  by  the  master ;  after  them,  or  at  their  side,  rode 
the  overseers,  roughly  calling  on  the  laggards  to  quicken  their 
pace,  and  cracking  their  whips  horribly.  Then  came  the  cart  in 
which  I  sat.  The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens,  for  it  was  not 
more  than  three  of  the  clock ;  the  road  was  white,  and  covered 
with  dust ;  and  the  distance  was  about  six  or  seven  miles,  and 
we  went  slowly,  so  that  it  was  already  nigh  unto  sunset  when 
we  arrived  at  the  master's  estate. 

Thus  was  I,  a  gentlewoman  born,  sold  in  the  island  of  Barba- 
does  for  a  slave.  Sixty  pounds  the  price  I  fetched.  Oh,  even 
now,  when  it  is  all  past  long  since,  I  remember  still  with  shame 
how  I  stood  upon  the  quarter-deck,  my  hood  thrown  back,  while 
all  those  men  gazed  upon  me,  and  passed  their  ribald  jests,  and 
cried  the  money  they  would  give  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE    FIRST    DAY    OF    SERVITUDE. 


Thus  began  my  captivity.  Thus  I  began  to  sit  beside  the 
waters  of  Babylon,  more  wretched  than  the  daughters  of  Zion, 
because  they  wept  together  while  I  wept  alone.  I  looked  for 
no  release  or  escape  until  the  Lord  should  mercifully  please  to 
call  me  away  by  opening  the  gate  of  death.  For  even  if  I  were 
released,  if  by  living  out  the  ten  years  of  servitude  I  could  claim 
my  freedom,  of  what  use  would  it  be  to  me  ?  Whither  could  I 
fly  ?  Where  hide  myself  ?  Yet  you  shall  hear,  if  you  will  read, 
how  a  way,  terrible  at  first  and  full  of  peril,  was  unexpected- 
ly opened,  and  in  what  a  strange  manner  was  wrought  my 
deliverance. 

We  arrived  at  our  new  master's  estate,  which  was,  as  I  have 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  275 

said,  about  seven  miles  from  the  port,  towards  sundown.  We 
were  marched  (rather  driven)  to  a  kind  of  village,  consisting  of 
a  double  row  of  huts  or  cottages,  forming  a  broad  street,  in  the 
middle  of  which  there  were  planted  a  large  number  of  the  fruit- 
trees  named  here  bonannows  (they  are  a  kind  of  plantain).  The 
green  fruit  was  hanging  in  clusters,  as  yet  unripe,  but  the  leaves, 
which  are  also  the  branches,  being  for  the  most  part  blown  into 
long  shreds  or  rags  by  the  wind,  had  an  untidy  appearance. 
The  cottages  looked  more  like  pigsties  for  size  and  shape ;  they 
were  built  of  sticks,  withes,  and  plantain-leaves  both  for  sides 
and  for  roof.  Chimneys  had  they  none,  nor  windows ;  some  of 
them  had  no  door,  but  an  opening  only.  Thus  are  housed  the 
servants  and  slaves  of  a  plantation.  The  furniture  within  is 
such  as  the  occupants  contrive.  Sometimes  there  is  a  ham- 
mock or  a  pallet,  with  grass  mats  and  rugs ;  there  are  some 
simple  platters  and  basins ;  in  each  hut  there  are  two,  three,  or 
four  occupants. 

Here  let  me,  in  brief,  make  an  end  of  describing  the  buildings 
on  this  estate,  which  were,  I  suppose,  like  those  of  every  other. 
If  you  were  to  draw  a  great  square  on  which  to  lay  down  or 
figure  the  buildings,  you  would  have  in  one  corner  the  street, 
or  village  of  the  people ;  next  to  the  village  lies  the  great  pond 
which  serves  for  drinking  water  as  well  as  for  washing ;  the 
negroes  are  fond  of  swimming  and  bathing  in  it,  and  they  say 
that  the  water  is  not  fouled  thereby,  which  I  could  not  under- 
stand. In  the  opposite  corner  you  must  place  the  ingenio,  or 
house  where  the  sugar-canes  are  brought  to  be  crushed  and 
ground  and  the  sugar  is  made  ;  there  are  all  kinds  of  machines 
with  great  wheels,  small  wheels,  cogs,  gutters  for  running  the 
juice,  and  contrivances  which  I  cannot  remember.  Some  of  the 
ingenios  are  worked  by  a  wind-mill,  others  by  horses  and  as- 
senegoes ;  there  is  in  every  one  a  still,  where  they  make  that 
fiery  spirit  which  they  call  kill-devil.  Near  the  ingenio  are  the 
stables,  where  there  are  horses,  oxen,  assenegoes,  and  the  curious 
beast,  spoken  of  in  Holy  Writ,  called  the  camel.  It  hath  been 
brought  here  from  Africa,  and  is  much  used  for  carrying  the 
sugar.  The  open  space  around  the  ingenio  is  generally  covered 
and  strewed  with  trash,  which  is  the  crushed  stalk  of  the  cane ; 
it  always  gives  forth  a  sour  smell  (as  if  fermenting)  which  I 
cannot  think  to  be  wholesome.     In  the  fourth  corner  is  the 


276  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

planter's  house.  Considering  that  these  people  sometimes  grow 
so  rich  that  they  come  home  and  buy  great  estates,  it  is  wonder- 
ful that  they  should  consent  to  live  in  houses  so  mean  and  pal- 
try. They  are  of  wood,  with  roofs  so  low  that  one  can  hardly 
stand  upright  in  them ;  and  the  people  are  so  afraid  of  the  cool 
wind  which  blows  from  the  east  that  they  have  neither  doors 
nor  windows  on  that  side,  but  will  have  them  all  towards  the 
west,  whence  cometli  the  chief  heat  of  the  sun,  namely,  the  af- 
ternoon heat.  Their  furniture  is  rude,  and  they  have  neither 
tapestry  nor  wainscoted  walls,  nor  any  kind  of  ornament.  Yet 
they  live  always  in  the  greatest  luxury,  eating  and  drinking  of 
the  best.  Some  of  the  houses  (my  master's  among  them)  have 
an  open  veranda,  as  they  call  it — in  Somersetshire  we  should 
call  it  a  linney — running  round  three  sides  of  the  house,  with 
coarse  canvas  curtains  which  can  be  let  down  so  as  to  keep  out 
the  sun,  or  drawn  up  to  admit  the  air.  But  their  way  of  living, 
though  they  eat  and  drtnk  of  the  best,  is  rude  even  compared 
with  that  of  our  farmers  at  home  ;  and  a  thriving  tradesman,  say 
of  Taunton,  would  scorn  to  live  in  such  a  house  as  contenteth  a 
wealthy  planter  of  Barbadoes.  Behind  the  house  was  a  spa- 
cious garden  in  which  grew  all  kinds  of  fruits  and  vegetables, 
and  all  round  the  buildings,  on  every  side,  stretched  the  broad 
fields  of  sugar-canes,  which  when  they  are  in  their  flower,  or 
blossom  of  gray  and  silver,  wave  in  the  wind  more  beautifully 
than  even  a  field  of  barley  in  England. 

On  the  approach  of  our  party,  and  the  voices  of  the  overseers,  a 
gentlewoman  (so  at  least  she  seemed)  came  out  of  the  house,  and 
stood  upon  the  veranda  shading  her  eyes  and  looking  at  the  gang 
of  wretches.  She  was  dressed  splendidly  in  a  silken  gown  and 
flowered  petticoat,  as  if  she  were  a  very  great  lady  indeed  ;  over 
her  head  lay  a  kerchief  of  rich  black  lace  ;  round  her  neck  was  a 
gold  chain.  When  she  slowly  descended  the  steps  of  the  veranda 
and  walked  towards  us,  I  observed  that  she  was  of  a  darker  skin 
than  is  customary  to  find  at  home ;  it  was,  indeed,  somewhat 
like  the  skin  of  the  gypsy  people ;  her  features  were  straight 
and  regular ;  her  hair  was  quite  black  ;  her  eyes  were  also  black 
and  large,  shaped  like  almonds.  On  her  wrists  were  heavy  gold 
bracelets,  and  her  fingers  were  loaded  with  rings.  She  seemed 
about  thirty  years  of  age ;  she  was  a  woman  of  tall  and  fine 
presence,  and  she  stood  and  moved  as  if  she  were  a  queen.     She 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  211 

presently  came  forth  from  the  veranda  and  walked  across  the 
yard  towards  us. 

"  Let  me  look  at  them — your  new  batch,"  she  said,  speaking 
languidly,  and  with  an  accent  somewhat  foreign.  "  How  many 
are  there  ?  Where  do  they  come  from  ?  Who  is  this  one,  for 
instance  ?  She  took  the  girl  named  Deb  by  the  chin,  and  looked 
at  her  as  if  she  were  some  animal  to  be  sold  in  the  market.  "  A 
stout  wench,  truly.     What  was  she  over  there  ?" 

The  overseer  read  the  name  and  the  crimes  of  the  prisoner. 
Madam  (this  was  the  only  name  by  which  I  knew  her)  pushed 
her  away  disdainfully. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  she  will  find  companions  enough  here. 
I  hope  she  will  work  without  the  whip.  Hark  ye,  girl,"  she 
added,  with,  I  think,  kindly  interest,  "  it  goes  still  to  my  heart 
when  I  hear  that  the  women  have  been  trounced,  but  the  work 
must  be  done.  Remember  that.  And  who  are  those  ?  and  those  ?" 
She  pointed  with  contempt  to  the  poor  creatures  covered  with 
dirt  and  dust,  and  in  the  ragged,  miserable  clothes  they  had 
worn  all  the  voyage.  "  Street  sweepings,  rogues  and  thieves, 
all.  Let  them  know,"  she  said,  grandly,  "w^hat  awaits  those 
who  skulk,  and  those  who  thieve.  And  whom  have  we  here  ?" 
She  turned  to  me.  "  Is  this  some  fine  city  madam,  fresh  from 
Bridewell  ?" 

"  This  prisoner,"  said  the  overseer,  "  is  described  as  a  rebel 
in  the  late  Monmouth  rising." 

"  A  rebel  ?  truly  ?"  she  asked  with  curiosity.  "  Were  Mon- 
mouth's soldiers  women  ?  We  heard  by  the  last  ship  something 
of  this.  Madam,  I  know  not  why  you  must  needs  become  a 
rebel,  but  this,  look  you,  is  no  place  for  gentlewomen  to  sit 
down  and  fold  their  arms." 

"  Madam,"  I  replied,  "  I  look  for  nothing  less  than  to  work, 
being  now  a  convict,  though  I  was  never  tried  and  condemned 
— I  know  not  by  whom — to  transportation  in  his  majesty's 
plantations." 

"  Let  me  look  at  your  hands,"  she  said,  sharply.  "  Why,  of 
what  use  are  those  little  fingers?  they  have  never  done  any 
work  ;  and  your  face — prithee,  turn  back  your  hood."  I  obeyed, 
and  her  eyes  suddenly  softened.  Indeed,  I  looked  not  for  this 
sign  of  compassion,  and  my  own  tears  began  to  flow.  "  'Tis  a 
shame  !"  she  cried.     "  'Tis  a  burning  shame  to  send  so  young 


278  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

a  woman,  a  gentlewoman,  and  one  with  such  a  face  to  the  plan- 
tations !  Have  they  no  bowels  ?  Child,  who  put  thee  aboard 
the  ship  ?" 

"  I  was  brought  on  board  by  one  Mr.  Penne,  who  deceived 
me,  promising  that  I  should  be  taken  to  New  England  where 
I  have  cousins." 

"  We  will  speak  of  this  presently.  Meantime,  since  we  must 
by  the  law  find  you  some  work  to  do — can  you  sew  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  can  perform  any  kind  of  needlework  from 
plain  sewing  to  embroidery." 

"  What  mean  they,"  she  cried  again,  "  by  sending  a  helpless 
girl  alone  with  such  a  crew  ?  The  very  Spaniards  of  whom  they 
talk  so  much  would  blush  for  such  barbarity.  They  would  send 
her  to  a  convent  where  the  good  nuns  would  treat  her  kindly. 
Well,  madam  or  miss,  thou  art  bought,  and  the  master  may  not, 
by  law,  release  you.  But  there  is  a  way  of  which  we  will  talk 
presently.  Meanwhile,  thou  canst  sit  in  the  sewing-room  where 
we  may  find  thee  work." 

I  thanked  her;  she  would  have  said  more.  But  there  came 
forth  from  the  house  with  staggering  step  the  man  who  had 
bought  us.  He  had  now  put  off  his  wig  and  his  scarlet  coat, 
and  wore  a  white  dressing-gown  and  a  linen  night-cap.  He  had 
in  his  hand  a  whip,  which  he  cracked  as  he  walked. 

"  Child,"  said  madam,  quickly,  "  pull  down  your  hood.  Hide 
your  face.  He  hath  been  drinking,  and  at  such  times  he  is  dan- 
gerous. Let  him  never  set  eyes  upon  thee  save  when  he  is 
sober." 

He  came  rolling  and  staggering,  yet  not  so  drunk  but  he 
could  speak,  though  his  voice  was  thick. 

"  Oho  !"  he  cried.  "  Here  are  the  new  servants.  Stand  up 
every  man  and  woman.  Stand  up,  I  say."  Here  he  cracked 
his  whip,  and  they  obeyed,  trembling.  But  madam  placed  her- 
self in  front  of  me.  "  Let  me  look  at  ye."  He  walked  along 
the  line  calling  the  unhappy  creatures  vile  and  foul  names.  Oh, 
shame  thus  to  mock  their  misery  !  *'  What !"  he  cried,  "  you 
think  you  have  come  to  a  country  where  there  is  nothing  to  do 
but  lie  on  your  backs  and  eat  turtle  and  drink  mobbie  ;  what ! 
You  shall  find  out  your  mistake  !"  Here  he  cracked  his  whip 
again,  "  You  shall  work  all  day  in  the  field,  not  because  you 
like  it,  but  because  you  must.     For  your  food  it  shall  be  lob- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  279 

loUie,  and  for  your  drink  water  from  the  pond.  What,  I  say  ! 
Those  who  skulk  shall  learn  that  the  Newgate  cat  is  tender 
compared  with  her  brother  of  Barbadoes.  Tremble,  therefore, 
ye  devils  all,  tremble  !" 

They  trembled  visibly.  All  were  now  subdued.  Those  of 
them  who  swaggered,  the  dare-devil  reckless  blades,  when  first 
we  sailed,  were  now  transformed  into  cowardly,  trembling 
wretches,  all  half  starved,  and  some  reduced  with  fevers,  with 
no  more  spirit  left  than  enabled  them  still  to  curse  and  swear. 
The  feeblest  of  mortals,  the  lowest  of  human  wretches,  has  still 
left  so  much  of  strength  and  will  that  he  can  sink  his  immortal 
soul  lower  still ;  a  terrible  power,  truly. 

Then  madam  drew  me  aside,  gently,  and  led  me  to  a  place 
like  a  barn  where  many  women,  white  and  black,  sat  sewing, 
and  a  great  quantity  of  little  black  babies  and  naked  children 
played  about  under  their  charge.  The  white  women  were 
sad  and  silent ;  the  blacks,  I  saw  with  surprise,  were  all  chat- 
tering and  laughing.  The  negro  is  happy  if  he  have  enough 
to  eat  and  drink,  whether  he  be  slave  or  free.  Madam  sat  down 
upon  a  bench  and  caused  me  to  sit  beside  her. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  kindly,  "  what  this  means.  When  did 
women  begin  to  rebel?  If  men  are  such  fools  as  to  go  forth 
and  fight,  let  them ;  but  for  women — " 

"  Indeed,"  I  told  her,  "  I  did  not  fight." 

Then  nothing  would  do  but  I  must  tell  her  all  from  the  be- 
ginning— my  name,  my  family,  and  my  history.  But  I  told  her 
nothing  about  my  marriage. 

"  So,"  she  said,  "  you  have  lost  father,  mother,  brothers,  lover, 
and  friends  by  this  pretty  business,  and  all  because  they  will 
not  suffer  the  king  to  worship  in  his  own  way.  Well,  'tis  hard 
for  you.  To  be  plain,  it  may  be  harder  than  you  think,  or  I 
can  help.  You  have  been  bought  for  sixty  pounds,  and  that 
not  for  any  profit  that  your  work  will  bring  to  the  estate,  be- 
cause such  as  you  are  but  a  loss  and  a  burden,  but  only  in  the 
hope  that  your  friends  will  pay  a  great  sum  for  ransom." 

"  Madam,  I  have  indeed  no  friends  left  who  can  do  this 
for  me." 

"  If  so,  it  is  indeed  unfortunate.  For  presently  the  master 
will  look  for  letters  on  your  behalf,  and  if  none  come,  I  know 
not  what  he  may  threaten  or  what  he  may  do.     But  think — 


280  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

try  to  find  some  one.  Consider,  your  lot  here  must  be  hard  at 
best,  wbereas  if  you  are  released  you  can  live  where  you  please  ; 
you  may  even  marry  whom  you  please,  because  beautiful  young 
gentlewomen  like  yourself  are  scarce  indeed  in  Barbadoes. 
'Tis  Christian  charity  to  set  you  free.  Remember,  child,  that 
money  will  do  here  what  I  suppose  it  will  do  anywhere.  All 
are  slaves  to  money.  You  have  six  months  before  you  in  which 
to  write  to  your  friends  and  to  receive  an  answer.  If  in  that 
time  nothing  comes,  I  tell  thee  again,  child,  that  I  know  not 
what  will  happen.  As  for  the  life  in  the  fields,  it  would  kill 
thee  in  a  week." 

"  Perhaps,  if  the  Lord  so  wills,"  I  replied,  helplessly,  "  that 
may  be  best.  Friends  have  I  none  now,  nor  any  whom  I  could 
ask  for  help,  save  the  Lord  alone.  I  will  ask  for  work  in  the 
fields." 

"  Perhaps  he  may  forget  thee,"  she  said,  meaning  the  mas- 
ter. "  But  no  ;  a  man  who  hath  once  seen  thy  face  will  never 
forget  thee.  My  dear,  he  told  me  when  he  came  home  that  he 
had  bought  a  woman  whose  beauty  will  set  the  island  in  flames. 
Pray  Heaven  he  come  not  near  thee  when  he  is  in  liquor.  Hide 
that  face,  child,  hide  that  face.  Let  him  never  see  thee. 
Oh,  there  are  dangers  worse  than  labor  in  the  fields,  worse 
than  whip  of  overseer."  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  clasped 
her  hands.  "You  talk  of  the  Lord's  will!  What  hath  the 
Lord  to  do  with  this  place  ?  Here  is  nothing  but  debauchery 
and  drinking,  cruelty  and  greed.  Why  have  they  sent  here  a 
woman  who  prays  ?" 

Then  she  sat  down  again  and  took  my  hand. 
"  Tender  maid,"  she  said,  "  thy  face  is  exactly  such  as  the 
face  of  a  certain  saint;  'tis  in  a  picture  which  hangs  in  the 
chapel  of  the  convent  where  the  good  nuns  brought  me  up  long 
ago,  before  I  came  to  this  place  —  long  ago.  Yes,  I  forget 
the  name  of  the  saint ;  thou  hast  her  face.  She  stood,  in  the 
picture,  surrounded  by  soldiers  who  had  red  hair,  and  looked 
like  devils — English  devils,  the  nuns  said.  Her  eyes  were  raised 
to  heaven  and  she  prayed.  But  what  was  done  unto  her  I  know 
not,  because  there  was  no  other  picture.  Now  she  sits  upon  a 
throne  in  the  presence  of  the  mother  of  God." 

The  tears  stood  in  her  great  black  eyes.     I  take  it  that  she 
was  thinking  of  the  days  when  she  was  young. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  281 

"  Well,  wc  must  keep  thee  out  of  Lis  way.  While  he  is  so- 
ber he  listens  to  reason,  and  thinks  continually  upon  his  estate 
and  his  gains.  When  he  is  drunk  no  one  can  hold  him,  and 
reason  is  lost  upon  him." 

She  presently  brought  me  a  manchet  of  white  bread  and  a 
glass  of  Madeira  wine,  and  then  told  me  that  she  would  give 
me  the  best  cottage  that  the  estate  possessed,  and  for  my  bet- 
ter protection  another  woman  to  share  it  with  me.  I  thanked 
her  again,  and  asked  that  I  might  have  the  girl  called  Deb,  which 
she  readily  granted. 

And  so  my  first  day  of  servitude  ended  in  thus  happily  find- 
ing a  protector.  As  for  the  cottage,  it  was  a  poor  thing,  but 
it  had  a  door  and  a  window  with  a  shutter.  The  furniture  was 
a  pallet  with  two  thick  rugs  and  nothing  more.  My  condition 
was  desperate  indeed,  but  yet,  had  I  considered,  I  had  been  so 
far  most  mercifully  protected.  I  was  shipped  as  a  convict  (it 
is  true)  by  a  treacherous  villain,  but  on  the  ship  I  found  a  com- 
passionate captain  who  saved  me  from  the  company  among 
whom  I  must  otherwise  have  dwelt.  I  was  sold  to  a  drunken 
and  greedy  planter,  but  I  found  a  compassionate  woman  who 
promised  to  do  what  she  could.  And  I  had  for  my  companion 
the  woman  who  had  become  a  most  faithful  maid  to  me  upon 
the  voyage,  and  who  still  continued  in  her  fidelity  and  her  love. 
And  greater  mercies  yet  were  in  store,  as  you  shall  see. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

BY    THE    WATERS    OF    BABYLON. 


Thus  delivered  from  the  slavery  of  the  fields,  I  began  to  work, 
an  unprofitable  servant,  among  those  who  made  and  mended  the 
garments  of  the  servants  and  negroes.  On  an  estate  so  large  as 
this  there  is  always  plenty  to  be  done  by  the  seamstresses  and 
needlewomen.  Thus,  to  every  woman  is  given  by  the  year  four 
smocks,  two  petticoats,  and  four  coifs,  besides  shoes,  which  are 
brought  from  England  by  the  ships.  Those  who  wait  in  the 
house  have,  in  addition,  six  smocks  and  three  Avaistcoats.  To 
the  men  are  given  six  shirts ;  and  to  every  man  and  woman  a 
rug  or  gown  of  thick  stuff  to  cast  about  them  when  they  come 


282  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

home  hot,  so  that  they  may  not  catch  cold,  a  thing  which  throws 
many  into  a  fever.  All  these  things  have  to  be  made  and  mend- 
ed on  the  estate. 

As  for  the  children,  the  little  blacks,  they  rnn  about  without 
clothing,  their  black  skin  sufficing.     The  women  who  are  en- 
gaged upon  the  work  of  sewing  are  commonly  those  of  the  white 
servants  who  are  not  strong  enough  for  the  weeding  and  hoeing 
in  the  fields,  or  are  old  and  past  hard  work.     Yet  the  stuff  of 
which  the  smocks  and  shirts  is  made  is  so  coarse  that  it  tore  the 
skin  from  my  fingers,  which,  when  madam  saw,  she  brought  me 
fine  work,  namely,  for  herself.     She  was  also  so  good  as  to  pro- 
vide me  with  a  change  of  clothes,  of  which  I  stood  sadly  in 
need,  and  excused  my  wearing  the  dress  of  the  other  women. 
I  hope  that  I  am  not  fond  of  fine  apparel  more  than  becomes  a 
modest  woman ;  but  I  confess  that  the  thought  of  wearing  this 
livery  of  servitude,  this  coarse  and  common  dress  of  smock,  pet- 
ticoat, and  coif,  all  of  rough  and  thick  stuff,  like  canvas,  with  a 
pair  of  shoes,  and  no  stockings,  filled  my  very  soul  with  dismay. 
None  of  the  many  acts  of  kindness  shown  me  by  madam  was  more 
gratefully  received  than  her  present  of  clothes — not  coarse  and 
rough  to  the  skin,  nor  ugly  and  common,  befitting  prisoners  and 
criminals,  but  soft  and  pleasant  to  wear,  and  fit  for  the  heat  of 
the  climate.    'Twas  no  great  hardship,  certainly,  to  rise  early  and 
to  sit  all  day  with  needle  and  thread  in  a  great  room  well  aired. 
The  company,  to  be  sure,  was  not  what  one  would  have  chosen, 
nor  was  the  language  of  the  poor  creatures  who  sat  with  me — 
prison  and  Bridewell  birds  all  of  them — such  as  my  poor  mother 
would  have  desired  her  daughter  to  hear.     The  food  was  coarse, 
but  I  was  often  at  the  house  when  the  master  was  away,  and 
there  madam  would  constantly  give  me  something  from  her  own 
table — a  dish  of  chocolate,  rightly  called  the  Indian  nectar, 
made  so  thick  and  strong  that  a  spoon  stands  upright  in  it,  or  a 
glass  of  Madeira,  if  my  cheeks  looked  paler  than  ordinary.     In 
this  country  the  great  heat  of  the  air  seems  to  suck  out  and  de- 
vour the  heat  of  the  body,  so  that  those  of  European  birth,  if 
they  are  not  nourished  on  generous  diet,  presently  fall  into  a 
decline  or  wasting  away,  as  is  continually  seen  in  the  case  of 
the  white  servants,  both  men  and  women,  who  die  early,  and 
seldom  last  more  than  five  or  six  years. 

Briefly,  madam  seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  my  conver- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  283 

sation,  and  would  either  seek  me  in  tlie  workroom  or  would 
have  me  to  the  house,  asking  questions  as  to  my  former  life. 
For  herself,  I  learned  that  she  had  been  born  in  Cuba,  and  had 
been  brought  up  by  nuns  in  a  convent,  but  how  or  why  she 
came  to  this  place  I  knew  not,  nor  did  I  ask.  Other  gentle- 
women of  the  island  I  never  saw,  and  I  think  there  were  none 
who  visited  her.  Nor  did  she  show  kindness  to  the  women- 
servants  (except  to  myself),  treating  them  all,  as  is  the  fashion 
in  that  country,  as  if  they  were  so  many  black  negroes,  not  con- 
descending to  more  than  a  word  or  a  command,  and  if  this  were 
disobeyed  they  knew  very  well  what  to  expect  from  her.  But 
to  me  she  continued  throughout  to  be  kind  and  gracious,  think- 
ing always  how  she  could  lighten  my  lot. 

In  this  employment,  therefore,  I  continued  with  such  content- 
ment as  may  be  imagined,  which  was  rather  a  forced  resignation 
to  the  will  of  the  Lord  than  a  cheerful  heart.  But  I  confess 
that  I  looked  upon  the  lot  of  the  other  women  with  horror,  and 
was,  indeed,  thankful  that  I  was  spared  the  miseries  of  those 
who  go  forth  to  the  fields.  They  begin  at  six  in  the  morning 
and  work  until  eleven,  when  they  come  home  to  dinner.  At 
one  o'clock  they  go  out  again  and  return  at  sunset,  Avliich  in 
this  country  is  nearly  always  about  half-past  six.  But  let  no 
one  think  that  work  in  the  fields  in  Barbadoes  may  be  compared 
with  work  in  the  fields  at  home.  For  in  England  there  are 
cloudy  skies  and  cold,  wintry  days  in  plenty,  but  in  Barbadoes, 
save  when  the  rain  falls  in  prodigious  quantities,  the  skies  have 
no  clouds,  but  are  clear  blue  all  the  year  round ;  the  sun  burns 
with  a  heat  intolerable,  so  that  the  eyes  are  well-nigh  blinded, 
the  head  aches,  the  limbs  fail,  and  but  for  fear  of  the  lash  the 
wretched  toiler  would  lie  down  in  the  nearest  shade.  And  a 
terrible  thirst  (all  this  was  told  me  by  the  girl  Deb)  seizes  the 
throat,  all  day  long,  which  nothing  can  assuage  but  rest.  For 
the  least  skulking  the  whip  is  laid  on,  and  if  there  be  a  word  of 
impatience  or  murmuring  it  is  called  stark  mutiny,  for  which 
the  miserable  convict,  man  or  woman,  is  tied  up  and  flogged 
with  a  barbarity  which  would  be  incredible  to  any  were  it  not 
for  the  memory  of  certain  floggings  in  our  own  country.  Be- 
sides the  lash  they  have  also  pillory  and  the  stocks,  and  the 
overseers  carry,  in  addition  to  their  whip,  a  heavy  cane,  Avith 
which  they  constantly  belabor  the  slaves,  both  white  and  black. 


284  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  say  slaves,  because  the  white  servants  are  nothing  less,  save 
that  the  negroes  are  far  better  off,  and  receive  infinitely  better 
treatment  than  the  poor  white  creatures.  Indeed,  the  negro  be- 
ing the  absolute  property  of  his  master,  both  he  and  his  chil- 
dren, to  ill-treat  him  is  like  the  wanton  destruction  of  cattle  on 
a  farm,  whereas  there  is  no  reason  in  making  the  convicts  last 
out  more  than  the  ten  years  of  their  servitude,  or  even  so  long, 
because  many  of  them  are  such  poor  creatures  when  they  arrive, 
and  so  reduced  by  the  miseries  of  the  voyage,  and  so  exhausted 
by  the  hard  labor  to  which  they  are  put,  that  they  bring  no  profit 
to  the  master,  but  quickly  fall  ill,  and  die  like  rotten  sheep. 
Like  rotten  sheep,  I  say,  they  die,  without  a  word  of  Christian 
exhortation,  and  like  brute  creatures  who  have  no  world  to  come 
are  they  buried  in  the  ground.  Again,  the  food  served  out  to 
these  poor  people  is  not  such  as  should  be  given  to  white  people 
in  a  hot  climate.  There  is  nothing  but  water  to  drink,  and  that 
drawn  from  ponds,  because  in  Barbadoes  there  are  few  springs 
or  rivers.  It  is  true  that  the  old  hands,  who  have  learned  how 
to  manage,  contrive  to  make  plantain  wine,  and  get,  by  hook 
or  by  crook,  mobbie  (which  is  a  strong  drink  made  from  pota- 
toes), or  kill-devil,  which  is  the  new  spirit  distilled  from  sugar. 
Then,  for  solid  food,  the  servants  are  allowed  five  pounds  of 
salt  beef  for  each  person  every  week,  and  this  so  hard  and 
stringy  that  no  boiling  will  make  it  soft  enough  for  the  teeth. 
Sometimes,  instead  of  the  beef,  they  have  as  much  salt  fish,  for 
the  most  part  stinking ;  with  this,  a  portion  of  ground  Indian 
corn,  which  is  made  into  a  kind  of  porridge,  and  called  loblol- 
lie.  This  is  the  staple  of  the  food,  and  there  are  no  rustics  at 
home  who  do  not  live  better  and  have  more  nourishing  food. 

I  do  not  deny  that  the  convicts  are  for  the  most  part  a  most 
horrid  crew,  who  deserve  to  suff(3r  if  any  men  ever  did ;  but  it 
was  sad  to  see  how  the  faces  of  the  people  were  pinched  with 
hunger  and  wasted  with  the  daily  fatigues,  and  how  their  hollow 
eyes  were  full  of  despair.  Whatever  their  sins  may  have  been, 
they  were  at  least  made  in  God's  own  image ;  no  criminal,  how- 
ever wicked,  should  have  been  used  with  such  barbarity  as  was 
wreaked  upon  the  people  of  this  estate.  The  overseers  were 
chosen  (being  themselves  also  convicts)  for  their  hardness  of 
heart.  Nay,  did  they  show  the  least  kindness  towards  the  poor 
creatures  whom  they  drove  they  would  themselves  be  forced  to 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  285 

lay  down  the  whip  of  office  and  to  join  the  gang  of  those  who 
toiled.  And  over  them  was  the  master,  jealous  to  exact  the  last 
ounce  of  strength  from  the  creatures  whom  he  had  bought.  Did 
the  good  people  of  Bristol  who  buy  the  sugar  and  molasses  and 
tobacco  of  the  Indies  know  or  understand  the  tears  of  despair 
and  the  sweat  of  agony  which  are  forced  with  every  pound  of 
sugar,  they  would  abhor  the  trade  which  makes  them  rich. 

The  companion  of  my  sleeping-hut,  the  girl  Deb,  was  a  great, 
strapping  wench,  who  bade  fair  to  outlast  her  ten  years  of  ser- 
vitude, even  under  the  treatment  to  which,  with  the  rest,  she 
was  daily  subjected.  And  partly  because  she  was  strong  and 
active,  partly  because  she  had  a  certain  kind  of  beauty  (the 
kind  which  belongs  to  the  rustic  and  is  accompanied  by  good- 
humor  and  laughter),  she  would  perhaps  have  done  well,  as 
some  of  the  women  do,  and  ended  by  marrying  an  overseer,  but 
for  events  which  presently  happened.  Yet,  strong  as  she  was, 
there  was  no  evening  when  she  did  not  return  worn  out  with 
fatigue,  her  cheeks  burning,  her  limbs  weary,  yet  happy  because 
she  had  one  more  day  escaped  the  lash,  and  had  the  night  be- 
fore her  in  which  to  rest.  If  it  is  worth  noting,  the  women 
were  from  the  outset  the  most  willing  workers  and  the  most 
eager  to  satisfy  their  taskmasters ;  the  men,  on  the  other  hand, 
went  sullen  and  downcast,  thinking  only  how  to  escape  the 
overseer's  whip,  and  going  through  the  work  with  angry  and 
revengeful  eyes.  I  think  that  some  great  mutiny  might  have 
happened  upon  this  estate — some  wild  revenge — so  desperate 
were  these  poor  creatures,  and  so  horrible  were  the  scourgings 
they  endured  and  the  shrieks  and  cursings  which  they  uttered. 
Let  me  not  speak  of  these  things. 

There  are  other  things  which  make  a  residence  in  Barbadoes, 
even  to  the  wealthy,  full  of  annoyances  and  irritations.  The 
place  is  filled  with  cockroaches,  great  spiders,  horrid  scorpions, 
centipedes,  and  lizards.  There  are  ants  which  swarm  every- 
where, and  there  are  clouds  of  flies ;  and  at  night  there  are 
mosquitoes  and  merrywings,  which  by  their  bites  have  been 
known  to  drive  new-comers  into  fever,  or  else  into  a  kind  of 
madness. 

In  the  evenings,  after  supper,  there  reigned  a  melancholy  si- 
lence in  the  village,  the  people  for  the  most  part  taking  rest 
with  weary  limbs.     Sometimes  there  would  be  a  quarrel,  with 


286  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

horrid  oaths  and  curses,  and  perhaps  some  fighting.  But  these 
occasions  were  rare. 

From  the  house  there  came  often  the  noise  of  singing,  drink- 
ing, and  loud  talking  when  other  planters  would  ride  over  for  a 
drinking-bout.  There  was  also  sometimes  to  be  heard  the  mu- 
sic of  the  theorbo,  upon  which  madam  played  very  sweetly, 
singing  Spanish  songs ;  so  that  it  seemed  a  pity  for  music  so 
sweet  to  be  thrown  away  upon  this  selfish  crew.  It  made  me 
think  of  Humphrey  and  of  the  sweet  and  holy  thoughts  which 
he  would  put  into  rhymes,  and  then  fit  the  rhymes  with  music 
which  seemed  to  breathe  those  very  thoughts.  Alas !  in  the 
village  of  Bradford  Orcas  there  would  be  now  silence  and  deso- 
lation :  the  good  old  squire  was  dead ;  my  father  dead ;  the 
young  men  sent  to  the  plantations ;  no  one  left  at  all  but  the 
rector  and  madam,  his  sister-in-law  ;  and  I,  alas  !  a  slave.  Per- 
chance at  that  moment  the  rector  might  be  slowly  drawing  his 
bow  across  the  strings  of  his  violoncello,  thinking  of  those  who 
formerly  played  with  him ;  or  perhaps  he  would  be  sorrowfully 
taking  out  his  cases  and  gazing  for  a  little  consolation  upon  the 
figures  of  his  goddesses  and  his  nymphs — only  to  think  of  the 
place  and  of  those  who  once  lived  there  tore  my  poor  heart  to 
pieces. 

One  evening,  when  there  was  a  great  noise  and  talking  at  the 
house,  while  we  were  sitting  upon  our  beds,  with  no  other  light 
than  that  of  the  moon,  madam  herself  came  to  the  cottage. 

"  Child,"  she  said,  "  nothing  will  do  but  that  the  gentlemen 
must  see  thy  beauty.  Nay,  no  harm  shall  happen  while  I  am 
there.  So  much  they  know.  But  he  hath  so  bragged  about 
thy  beauty,  and  the  great  price  he  will  demand  for  ransom,  that 
the  rest  are  mad  to  see  thee.  I  swear  that  not  the  least  rude- 
ness shall  be  offered  thee.  They  are  drinking,  it  is  true,  but 
they  are  not  yet  drunk.     Come." 

So  I  arose  and  followed  her.  First  she  took  me  to  her  own 
room,  where  she  took  off  my  hood  and  threw  over  me  a  long 
white  lace  mantilla,  which  covered  my  head  and  fell  over  my 
shoulders  and  below  the  waist. 

She  sighed  as  she  looked  at  me. 

"  Poor  innocent  1"  she  said,  "  if  money  could  buy  that  face 
there  is  not  a  man  in  the  room  but  would  give  all  he  hath  and 
count  it  gain.     Canst  thou  play  or  sing  ?" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  287 

I  told  licr  tliat  I  had  some  knowledge  of  the  theorbo.  There- 
fore she  brought  me  hers,  and  bade  me  sing  to  the  gentlemen 
and  then  retire  quickly.  So  I  followed  her  into  the  living  or  keep- 
ing room,  where  a  dozen  gentlemen  were  sitting  round  the  table. 
A  bowl  of  punch  was  on  the  table,  and  every  man  had  his  glass 
before  him  and  a  pipe  of  tobacco  in  his  hand.  Some  of  their 
faces  were  flushed  with  wine. 

*'  Gentlemen,"  said  madam,  "  our  prisoner  hath  consented  to 
sing  one  song  to  you,  after  which  she  will  ask  permission  to  bid 
you  good-night." 

So  they  all  clapped  their  hands  and  rapped  the  table,  and  I, 
being  indeed  terrified,  but  knowing  very  well  that  to  show  fear 
would  be  the  worst  thing  I  could  do,  touched  the  strings  and 
began  my  song.  I  sang  the  song  which  Humphrey  made,  and 
which  he  sang  to  the  officers  at  Taunton  when  the  duke  was 
there. 

When  I  finished  I  gave  back  the  theorbo  to  madam,  courte- 
sied  to  the  gentlemen,  and  quickly  stepped  back  to  madam's 
room,  while  they  all  bellowed  and  applauded,  and  roared  for  me 
to  come  back  again.  But  I  put  on  my  hood  and  slipped  out  to 
the  cottage,  where  I  lay  down  beside  Deb  and  quickly  fell  asleep. 
(It  is  a  great  happiness  in  these  hot  latitudes  that  when  a  new- 
comer hath  once  got  over  the  trouble  of  the  merry  wings  he  fall- 
eth  asleep  the  moment  he  lies  down,  and  so  sleeps  through  the 
whole  night.) 

But  in  the  morning  madam  came  to  see  me  while  I  was  sewing. 

"  Well,  child,"  'she  said,  laughing,  "  thou  hast  gotten  a  lover 
who  swears  that  he  will  soon  have  thee  out  of  this  hell." 

"  A  lover  !"  I  cried.     "  Nay  ;  that  may  God  forbid  !" 

"  'Tis  true.  Young  Mr.  Anstiss  it  is.  While  thou  wast  sing- 
ing he  gazed  on  thy  pretty  face  and  listened  as  one  enchanted. 
I  wonder — but  no,  thou  hast  no  eyes  for  such  things.  And 
when  thou  wast  gone  he  offered  the  master  four  times  the  sum 
he  paid  for  thee  ;  yea,  four  times,  or  six  times,  saying  that  he 
meant  honorably,  and  that  if  any  man  dared  to  whisper  any- 
thing to  the  contrary  he  would  cut  his  throat." 

"  Alas,  madam.  I  must  never  marry — either  this  Mr.  Anstiss 
or  any  other." 

"  Tut,  tut ;  this  is  foolish  maid's  nonsense.  Granted  you 
ha.ve  lost  your  old  lover,  there  are  plenty  more.     Suppose  he 


288  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

hath  lost  his  old  sweetheart,  there  are  plenty  more,  as  I  doubt 
not  he  hath  already  proved.  Mr.  Anstiss  is  a  very  pretty  young 
gentleman ;  but  the  master  would  not  listen,  saying  that  he 
waited  for  the  lady's  friends." 

And  so  passed  six  weeks,  or  thereabouts,  for  the  only  count 
of  time  I  kept  was  from  Sunday  to  Sunday.  On  that  day  we 
rested ;  the  negroes,  who  are  no  better  than  heathens,  danced. 
The  white  servants  lay  about  in  the  shade,  and  drank  what  they 
could ;  in  one  cottage  only  on  that  godless  estate  prayers  were 
offered. 

And  then  happened  that  great  event  which  in  the  end  proved 
to  be  a  change  of  my  whole  life,  and  brought  happiness  out  of 
misery,  and  joy  out  of  suffering,  though  at  first  it  seemed  only 
a  dreadful  addition  to  my  trouble.  Thus  is  the  course  of  things 
ordered  for  us,  and  thus  the  greatest  blessings  follow  upon  the 
most  threatening  juncture.  What  this  was  I  will  tell  in  a  few 
words. 

It  was  about  the  third  w^eek  in  September  when  I  embarked, 
and  about  the  third  week  in  November  when  the  ship  made  her 
port.  Therefore  I  take  it  that  it  was  one  day  about  the  begin- 
ning of  the  year  1686,  when  madam  came  to  the  workroom  and 
told  me  that  a  ship  had  arrived,  carrying  a  cargo  of  two  hundred 
rebels  and  more,  sent  out  to  work  upon  the  plantations,  like 
myself,  for  the  term  of  ten  years.  She  also  told  me  that  the 
master  was  gone  to  the  Bridge  in  order  to  buy  some  of  them. 
Not,  she  said,  that  he  wanted  more  hands,  but  he  expected  that 
there  would  be  among  them  persons  of  quality  who  would  be 
glad  to  buy  their  freedom.  He  still,  she  told  me,  looked  to 
make  a  great  profit  out  of  myself,  and  was  thinking  to  sell  me, 
unless  my  friends  in  England  speedily  sent  proposals  for  my 
ransom,  to  the  young  planter  who  was  in  love  with  me.  This 
did  not  displease  me.  I  have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  tell 
how  Mr.  Anstiss  came  often  to  the  estate,  and  continually  de- 
vised schemes  for  looking  at  me,  going  to  the  ingenio,  whence 
he  could  see  those  who  sat  in  the  workroom,  and  even  sending 
me  letters,  vowing  the  greatest  extravagance  of  passion ;  I  say 
I  was  not  displeased  because  there  was  in  this  young  gentle- 
man's face  a  certain  goodness  of  disposition  clearly  marked,  so 
that  even  if  I  became  his  property  I  thought  I  might  persuade 
him  to  relinquish  thoughts  of  love,  even  if  I  had  to  trust  myself 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  289 

entirely  to  his  honor,  and  tell  him  all.     But,  as  you  shall  hear, 
this  project  of  the  master's  was  brought  to  naught. 

As  for  the  rebels,  I  was  curious  to  see  them.  Some  I  might 
recognize ;  to  some  I  might  perhaps  be  of  a  little  use  at  the 
outset  in  guarding  them  against  dangers.  I  did  not  fear,  or  think 
it  likely,  that  there  would  be  any  among  them  whom  I  might 
know,  or  who  might  know  me.  Yet  the  thing  which  I  least 
suspected  and  the  least  feared — a  thing  which  one  would  have 
thought  so  unlikely  as  to  make  the  event  a  miracle ;  nay,  call  it 
rather  the  merciful  ordering  of  all — that  thing  I  say,  actually, 
happened. 

The  newly  bought  servants  arrived  at  about  five  in  the 
evening. 

I  looked  out  of  the  workroom  to  see  them.  Why,  I  seemed 
to  know  their  faces — all  their  faces.  They  were  our  brave  West 
Country  lads,  whom  I  had  last  seen  marching  gallantly  out  of 
Taunton  town  to  victory  and  glory  (as  they  believed) ;  now,  pale 
with  the  miseries  of  the  voyage,  thin  with  bad  food  and  disease, 
hollow-cheeked  and  hollow-eyed,  in  rags  and  dirt,  barefooted, 
covered  with  dust,  grimy  for  want  of  washing,  their  beards 
grown  all  over  their  faces,  with  hanging  heads  stood  these  poor 
fellows.  There  were  thirty  of  them  ;  some  had  throAvn  them- 
selves on  the  ground  as  if  in  the  last  extremity  of  fatigue ; 
some  stood  with  the  patience  that  one  sees  in  brute  beasts  who 
are  waiting  to  be  killed ;  and  in  a  group  together  stood  three — 
oh,  merciful  Heaven  !  was  this  misery  also  added  to  my  cup  ? 
They  were  Eobin,  Barnaby,  and  Humphrey.  Robin's  face, 
heavy  and  pale,  betrayed  the  sorrow  of  his  soul.  lie  stood  as 
one  who  neither  careth  for  nor  regarded  anything.  My  heart 
fell  like  lead  to  witness  the  despair  which  was  visible  in  his 
attitude,  in  his  eyes,  in  his  brow.  But  Barnaby  showed  still  a 
cheerful  countenance,  and  looked  about  him  as  if  he  were  arriv- 
ing a  welcome  guest  instead  of  a  slave. 

"  You  know  any  of  them,  child  ?"  madam  asked. 

"  Oh,  madam,"  I  cried,  "  they  are  my  friends ;  they  are  my 
friends.     Oh,  help  them  ;  help  them." 

"  How  can  I  help  them  ?"   she  replied,  coldly.     "  They  are 

rebels,  and  they  are  justly  punished.     Let  them  write  home  for 

money  if  they  have  friends,  and  so  they  can  be  ransomed.     To 

make  them  write  the  more  movingly  the  master  hath  resolved 

13  T 


290  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

to  send  them  all  to  work  in  the  fields.     The  harder  they  work, 
lie  says,  the  more  they  will  desire  to  be  free  again." 
"  In  the  fields !     Oh,  Robin  !  my  poor  Robin  !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Humphrey's   narrative. 


With  these  words — "  Oh,  Robin  !  Robin  !" — the  history  as 
set  down  in  my  mistress's  handwriting  suddenly  comes  to  an 
end.  The  words  are  fitting,  because  her  whole  heart  was  full 
of  Robin,  and  though  at  this  time  it  seemed  to  the  poor  creat- 
ure a  sin  still  to  nourish  affection  for  her  old  sweetheart,  I  am 
sure — nay,  I  have  it  on  her  own  confession — that  there  was 
never  an  hour  in  the  waking  day  when  Robin  was  not  in  her 
mind,  though  between  herself  and  her  former  lover  stood  the 
dreadful  figure  of  her  husband.  I  suppose  that,  although  she 
began  this  work  with  the  design  to  complete  it,  she  had  not  the 
courage,  even  when  years  had  passed  away,  and  much  earthly 
liappiness  had  been  her  reward,  to  write  down  the  passages 
which  follow.  Wherefore  (and  for  another  reason,  namely,  a 
confession  which  must  be  made  by  myself  before  I  die)  I  have 
taken  upon  myself  to  finish  that  part  of  Grace  Ey kin's  history 
which  relates  to  the  Monmouth  rising  and  its  unhappy  conse- 
quences. You  have  read  how  (thanks  to  my  inexperience  and 
ignorance  of  conspiracies,  and  belief  in  men's  promises)  we  were 
reduced  to  the  lowest  point  of  disgrace  and  poverty.  Grace  did 
not  tell,  because  till  afterwards  she  did  not  know,  that  on  Sir 
Christopher's  death  his  estate  was  declared  confiscated,  and 
presently  bestowed  upon  Benjamin  by  favor  of  Lord  Jeffreys, 
so  that  he  whose  ambition  it  was  to  become  lord  chancellor  was 
already  (which  he  had  not  expected),  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  of 
Bradford  Orcas.     But  of  this  hereafter. 

I  have  called  her  my  mistress.  Truly,  all  my  life  she  hath 
been  to  me  more  than  was  ever  Laura  to  Petrarch,  or  even  Bea- 
trice to  the  great  Florentine.  The  ancients  represented  every 
virtue  by  a  goddess,  a  grace,  or  a  nymph.  Nay,  the  arts  were 
also  feminine  (yet  subject  to  the  informing  influence  of  the 
other  sex,  as  the  Muses  had  Apollo  for  their  director  and  chief). 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  291 

To  my  mind  overy  generous  sentiment,  every  worthy  thought, 
all  things  tliat  are  gracious,  all  things  that  lift  my  soul  above 
the  common  herd,  belong  not  to  me,  but  to  my  mistress.  In 
my  youth  it  was  she  who  encouraged  me  to  the  practice  of  those 
arts  by  which  the  soul  is  borne  heavenwards.  I  mean  the  arts 
of  poetry  and  of  music ;  it  was  she  who  listened  patiently  when 
I  would  still  be  prating  of  myself,  and  encouraged  the  ambi- 
tions which  had  already  seized  my  soul.  So  that  if  I  turned  a 
set  of  verses  smoothly,  it  was  to  Grace  that  I  gave  them,  and  for 
her  that  I  wrote  them.  AMien  Ave  played  heavenly  music  to- 
gether the  thoughts  inspired  by  the  strain  were  like  the  Italian 
painter's  vision  of  the  angels  which  attend  the  Virgin.  I  mean 
that,  sweet  and  holy  as  they  are,  they  fall  far  short  of  the  holi- 
ness and  sweetness  of  her  whom  they  honor.  So  whatever  my 
thoughts,  or  my  ambitions,  amid  them  all  I  saw  continually  the 
face  of  Grace,  always  filled  with  candor  and  with  sweetness. 
That  quality  which  enables  a  woman  to  think  always  about 
others,  and  never  about  herself,  was  given  to  Grace  in  large  and 
plenteous  measure.  U  she  talked  with  me,  her  soul  was  all 
mine ;  if  she  was  waiting  on  madam,  or  upon  Sir  Christopher, 
or  upon  the  rector,  or  on  her  own  mother,  she  knew  their  in- 
most thoughts,  and  divined  all  their  wants.  Nay,  long  after- 
wards, in  the  daily  exercise  of  work  and  study,  at  the  University 
of  Oxford,  in  the  foreign  schools  of  Montpellier,  Padua,  and 
Leyden,  it  was  Grace  who,  though  far  away,  encouraged  me.  I 
could  no  longer  hear  her  voice,  but  her  steadfast  eyes  remained 
in  my  mind  like  twin  stars  that  dwell  in  heaven.  This  is  a 
w^ondrous"  power  given  to  a  few  women,  that  they  should  become, 
as  it  were,  angels  sent  from  heaven,  lent  to  the  earth  awhile,  in 
order  to  fill  men's  minds  with  worthy  thoughts  and  to  lead  them 
in  the  heavenly  way.  The  Romish  Church  holds  that  the  age 
of  miracles  hath  never  passed,  which  I  do  also  believe,  but  not 
in  the  sense  taught  by  that  church.  Saints  there  are  among 
us  still,  who  daily  work  miracles,  turning  earthly  clay  into  the 
jasper  and  precious  marble  of  heaven. 

Again,  the  great  poet  Milton  hath  represented  his  Virtuous 
Lady  unharmed  among  the  rabble  rout  of  Comus,  protected  by 
her  virtue  alone.  Pity  that  he  hath  not  also  shown  a  youno- 
man  led  by  that  sweet  lady,  encouraged,  warned,  and  guarded 
along  that  narrow  way,  beset  with  quag  and  pitfall,  along  which 


292  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

he  must  walk,  who  would  willingly  climb  to  higher  place.  And 
all  this  apart  from  earthly  love,  as  in  the  case  of  those  two 
Italian  poets. 

More,  I  confess,  I  would  have  had,  and  presumptuously  longed 
for  it ;  nay,  even  prayed  for  it  with  such  yearnings  and  longings 
as  seemed  to  tear  my  very  heart  asunder.  But  this  was  denied 
to  me. 

In  September,  1685,  ten  weeks  after  the  fight  of  Sedgemoor, 
we,  being  by  that  time  well  tired  of  Exeter  prison,  were  tried 
by  Lord  Jeffreys.  It  was  no  true  trial,  for  we  were  all  advised 
to  plead  guilty,  upon  which  the  judge  bellowed  and  roared  at 
us,  abusing  us  in  such  language  as  I  never  thought  to  hear  from 
the  bench,  and  finally  sentenced  us  all  to  death.  (A  great  deal 
has  been  said  of  this  roaring  of  the  judge,  but  I  am  willing  to 
excuse  it  in  great  measure,  on  the  ground  of  the  disease  from 
which  he  was  then  suffering.  I  myself,  who  had  heard  that  he 
was  thus  afflicted,  saw  the  drops  of  agony  upon  his  forehead, 
and  knew  that  if  he  was  not  bawling  at  us,  he  must  have  been 
roaring  on  his  own  account.)  So  we  were  marched  back  to 
prison,  and  began  to  prepare  for  the  last  ceremony,  Avhich  is,  I 
think,  needlessly  horrible  and  barbarous.  To  cut  a  man  open 
while  he  is  still  living  is  a  thing  not  practised  even  by  the  sav- 
age Turk.  At  this  gloomy  time  my  cousin  Kobin  set  a  noble 
example  of  fortitude  which  greatly  encouraged  the  rest  of  us. 
Nor  would  he  ever  suffer  me  to  reproach  myself  (as  I  was  con- 
tinually tempted  to  do)  with  having  been  the  cause  of  the  ruin 
which  had  fallen  upon  the  whole  of  our  unfortunate  house. 
Nay,  he  went  further,  and  insisted  and  would  have  it  that  had 
I  remained  in  Holland  he  himself  would  have  joined  the  duke, 
and  that  I  was  in  no  way  to  blame  as  an  inciter  to  this  unfortu- 
nate act.  We  knew  by  this  time  that  Sir  Christopher  had  been 
arrested,  and  conveyed  to  Ilminster  jail,  and  that  with  him  were 
Dr.  Eykin,  greviously  wounded,  and  Barnaby,  and  that  Grace, 
with  her  mother,  was  also  at  Ilminster.  Mr.  Boscorel,  for  his 
part,  was  gone  to  London  in  order  to  exert  whatever  interest  he 
might  possess  on  behalf  of  all.  With  liim  Avent  madam,  Robin's 
mother,  but  she  returned  before  the  trial,  much  dejected,  so  that 
we  were  not  encouraged  to  hope  for  anything  from  that  quarter. 
Madam  began  to  build  some  hopes  at  this  time  from  Benjamin, 
because  he,  who  had  accompanied  the  judges  from  London, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  293 

was  the  boon  companion  every  night  of  Lord  Jeffreys  liimsclf. 
But  it  is  one  thing-  to  be  permitted  to  drink  and  sing  with  a 
man  at  night,  and  another  thing  to  procure  of  him  the  pardon 
of  rebels,  and  those  not  the  common  sort,  but  leaders  and  cap- 
tains. That  Benjamin  Avould  attempt  to  save  us  I  did  not 
doubt,  because  in  common  decency  and  humanity  he  must  needs 
try  to  save  his  grandfather  and  his  cousins.  But  that  he  would 
effect  anything,  that  indeed  I  doubted.  Whether  he  did  make 
an  attempt  I  know  not.  He  came  not  to  the  prison,  nor  did  he 
make  any  sign  that  he  knew  we  were  among  the  prisoners. 
What  he  contrived,  the  plot  which  he  laid,  and  the  villainy  with 
which  he  carried  it  out,  you  have  already  read.  Well,  I  shall 
have  much  more  to  say  about  Benjamin.  For  the  moment,  let 
him  pass, 

I  say,  then,  that  we  were  lying  in  Exeter  jail,  expecting  to  be 
called  out  for  execution  at  any  hour.  We  were  sitting  in  the 
courtyard  on  the  stone  bench,  with  gloomy  hearts. 

"  Robin  !  Ilumphrey  !  lads  both  !"  cried  a  voice  we  knew.  It 
was  the  rector,  Mr.  Boscorel,  himself,  who  called  us.  "  Courage, 
lads !"  he  cried,  yet  looked  himself  as  mournful  as  man  can 
look.  "  I  bring  you  good  news.  I  have  this  day  ridden  from 
Ilminster.  There  is  other  news  not  so  good.  Good  news,  I 
say ;  for  you  shall  live,  and  not  die  !  I  have  so  far  succeeded 
that  the  lives  are  spared  of  Robin  Challis,  captain  in  the  rebel 
cavalry;  Barnaby  Eykin,  captain  of  the  green  regiment;  and 
Ilumphrey  Challis,  chirurgeon  to  the  duke.  Yet  must  you  go 
to  the  plantations,  poor  lads  !  there  to  stay  for  ten  long  years. 
Well,  we  will  hope  to  get  your  pardon  and  freedom  long  before 
that  time  is  over.     Yet  you  must  perforce  sail  across  the  seas." 

"  Lad,"  cried  Robin,  catching  my  hand,  "  cease  to  tear  thy 
heart  with  reproaches.     See  !  none  of  us  will  die,  after  all." 

"  On  the  scaffold,  none,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel.  "  On  the  scaffold 
none,"  he  repeated. 

"  And  what  saith  my  grandfather,  sir  ?"  Robin  asked.  "  He 
is  also  enlarged,  I  hope,  at  last.  And  how  is  the  learned  Dr. 
Eykin  ?     And  Grace,  my  Grace,  where  is  she  ?" 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  rector,  "  prepare  for  tidings  of  the 
worst — yes,  of  the  very  worst.  Cruel  news  I  bring  to  you,  boys 
— and  for  myself."  (He  hung  his  head.)  "  Cruel  news — shame- 
ful news." 


294  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Alas !  you  know  already  what  lie  had  to  tell  us.  AVorse  than 
the  death  of  that  good  old  man,  Sir  Christopher,  worse  than  the 
death  of  the  unfortunate  Dr.  Eykin  and  his  much-tried  wife, 
there  was  the  news  of  Grace's  marriage,  and  of  her  flight ;  and 
at  hearing  this  we  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay,  and  Robin 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  cried  aloud  for  vengeance  upon  the  vil- 
lain who  had  done  this  thing, 

"  It  is  my  own  son,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "  yet  spare  him  not. 
He  deserves  all  that  you  can  call  him  and  more.  Shameful 
news  I  had  to  tell  you.  Where  the  poor  child  hath  found  a  re- 
treat, or  how  she  fares,  I  know  not.  Robin,  ask  me  not  to  curse 
my  own  son.  What  is  done  will  bring  its  punishment  in  due 
time.  Doubt  it  not.  But  of  punishment  we  need  not  speak. 
If  there  were  any  way — any  way  possible — out  of  it.  But  there 
is  none.  It  is  a  fatal  blow.  Death  itself  alone  can  release  her. 
Consider,  Humphrey,  consider.  You  are  not  so  distracted  as 
your  cousin.  Consider,  I  say,  that  unhappy  girl  is  Benjamin's 
lawful  wife.  If  he  can  find  her,  he  may  compel  her  to  live  with 
him.  She  is  his  lawful  wife,  I  say.  It  is  a  case  in  which  there 
is  no  remedy.  It  is  a  wickedness  for  which  there  is  no  help 
until  one  of  the  twain  shall  die." 

There  was,  indeed,  no  help  or  remedy  possible.  I  will  not 
tell  of  the  madness  which  fell  upon  Robin  at  this  news,  nor  of 
the  distracted  things  he  said,  nor  how  he  wept  for  Grace  at  one 
moment  and  the  next  cursed  the  author  of  this  wickedness. 
There  was  no  remedy.  Yet  Mr.  Boscorel  solemnly  promised  to 
seek  out  the  poor  innocent  girl,  forced  to  break  her  vows  for 
the  one  reason  which  could  excuse  her — namely,  to  save  the 
lives  of  all  she  loved. 

"  They  were  saved  already,"  Mr.  Boscorel  added.  "  He  knew 
that  they  were  saved.  He  had  seen  me.  He  had  the  news  that 
I  brought  from  London.  He  knew  it,  and  he  lied  unto  her. 
There  is  no  single  particular  in  which  his  wickedness  can  be  ex- 
cused or  defended.  Yet,  I  say,  curses  are  of  no  avail.  The 
hand  of  God  is  heavy  upon  all  sinners,  and  will  presently  fall 
upon  my  unhappy  son.  I  pray  that  before  that  hand  shall  fall 
his  heart  may  be  touched  with  repentance." 

But  Robin  fell  into  a  melancholy  from  which  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  rouse  him.  He  Avho,  while  death  upon  the  scaffold  seemed 
certain,  was  cheerful  and  brave,  now,  when  his  life  was  spared, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  295 

sat  heavy  and  gloomy,  speaking  to  no  one  ;  or  if  he  spoke,  then 
in  words  of  rage  and  impatience. 

Mr.  Boscorel  remained  at  Exeter,  visiting  us  daily  until  the 
time  came  when  we  were  removed.  He  brought  with  him  one 
day  a  smooth-tongued  gentleman,  in  sober  attire,  who  was,  he 
told  us,  a  AVest  Indian  merchant  of  Bristol,  named  George  Penne. 
You  have  read  and  know  already  how  great  a  villain  was  this 
man. 

"  This  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "  is  able  and  willing, 
for  certain  considerations,  to  assist  you  in  your  exile.  You 
have  been  given,  among  many  others,  by  the  king,  to  one  Mr. 
Jerome  Nipho,  who  hath  sold  all  his  convicts  to  this  gentleman. 
In  his  turn,  he  is  under  bonds  to  ship  you  for  the  plantations, 
where  you  will  be  sold  again  to  the  planters." 

"Sirs" — Mr.  Penne  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us  with 
compassionate  eyes — "  I  have  heard  your  melancholy  case,  and 
it  will  be  to  my  great  happiness  if  I  may  be  able  in  any  Avay  to 
soften  the  rigors  of  your  exile.  Be  it  known  to  you  that  I  have 
correspondents  in  Jamaica,  Barbadoes,  and  Virginia ;  and  that 
for  certain  sums  of  money,  these,  my  friends,  will  readily  under- 
take to  make  your  servitude  one  merely  in  name.  In  other 
words,  as  I  have  already  informed  his  reverence,  I  have  bought 
you  in  the  hope  of  being  useful  to  you — I  wish  I  could  thus 
buy  .all  unhappy  prisoners — and  I  can,  on  paying  my  friends 
what  they  demand,  secure  to  you  freedom  from  labor,  subject 
only  to  the  condition  of  remaining  abroad  until  your  term  is  ex- 
pired or  your  friends  at  home  have  procured  your  pardon." 

"As  for  the  price,  Humphrey,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  "that  shall 
be  my  care.  It  is  nearly  certain  that  Sir  Christopher's  estates 
will  be  confiscated,  seeing  that  he  died  in  prison  under  the 
charge  of  high-treason,  though  he  was  never  tried.  Therefore 
we  must  not  look  to  his  lands  for  any  help.  What  this  gentle- 
man proposes  is,  however,  so  great  a  thing,  that  we  must  not 
hesitate  to  accept  his  offer  gratefully." 

"  I  must  have,"  said  Mr.  Penne,  "  seventy  pounds  for  each 
prisoner.  I  hear  that  there  is  a  third  young  gentleman  of  your 
party  now  in  the  same  trouble  at  Ilminster.  I  shall,  therefore, 
ask  for  two  hundred  guineas — two  hundred  guineas  in  all.  It 
is  not  a  large  sum  in  order  to  secure  freedom.  Those  who  can- 
not obtain  this  relief  have  to  work  in  the  fields  or  in  the  mill- 


296  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

under  tlie  hot  sun  of  the  Spanish  Main.  They  are  subject  to 
the  whip  of  the  overseer,  tliey  have  wretched  food ;  they  are 
worse  treated  than  the  negroes,  because  the  latter  are  slaves  for 
life  and  the  former  for  ten  years  only.  By  paying  two  hundred 
guineas  only,  you  will  all  be  enabled  to  live  at  your  ease.  Mean- 
while, your  friends  at  home  will  be  constantly  endeavoring  to 
procure  your  pardon.  I  myself,  though  but  a  simple  merchant 
of  Bristol  city,  can  boast  some  influence,  which  I  will  most 
readily  exert  to  the  utmost  in  your  behalf — " 

"  Say  no  more,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Boscorel,  interrupting  him. 
"  The  bargain  is  concluded.  These  young  gentlemen  shall  not 
be  subjected  to  any  servitude.  I  will  pay  you  two  hundred 
guineas." 

"I  would,  sir" — Mr.  Penne  laid  his  hand,  which  was  large, 
white,  and  soft,  the  hand  of  a  liar  and  a  traitor,  upon  his  treach- 
erous heart — "  I  would  to  Heaven,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  I  could 
undertake  this  service  for  less.  If  my  correspondents  were  men 
of  tender  hearts  the  business  should  cost  you  nothing  at  all. 
But  they  are  men  of  business.  They  say  that  they  live  not 
abroad  for  pleasure,  but  for  profit ;  they  cannot  forego  any  ad- 
vantage that  may  offer.  As  for  me,  this  job  brings  me  no 
profit.  Upon  my  honor,  gentlemen,  profit  from  such  a  source 
I  should  despise.  Every  guinea  that  you  give  me  will  be  placed 
to  the  credit  of  my  correspondents,  who  will,  I  am  assured,  turn 
a  pretty  penny  by  the  ransom  of  the  prisoners.  But  that  we 
cannot  help.  And  as  for  me,  I  say  it  boldly  in  the  presence  of 
this  learned  and  pious  clergyman,  I  am  richly  rewarded  with  the 
satisfaction  of  doing  a  generous  thing.  That  is  enough,  I  hope, 
for  any  honest  man." 

The  fellow  looked  so  benevolent  and  smiled  with  so  much 
compassion  that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  word.  Besides, 
Mr.  Boscorel  had  learned  many  things  during  the  journey  to 
London ;  among  others,  that  it  would  be  possible  to  buy  im- 
munity from  labor  for  the  convicts.  Therefore,  he  hesitated 
not,  but  gave  him  what  he  demanded ;  taking  in  return  a  paper, 
which  was  to  be  shown  to  Mr.  Penne's  correspondents,  in  which 
he  acknowledged  the  receij)t  of  the  money,  and  demanded  in  re- 
turn a  release  from  actual  servitude.  This  paper  I  put  carefully 
in  my  pocket  with  my  note-book  and  my  case  of  instruments. 

It  was,  so  far  as  my  memory  serves  me,  about  six  weeks  after 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  297 

our  pardon  was  received  when  we  heard  that  we  were  to  be 
marched  to  Bristol,  there  to  be  shipped  for  some  port  or  other 
across  the  ocean.  At  Taunton  we  were  joined  by  a  hundi^ed 
poor  fellows  as  fortunate  as  ourselves ;  and  at  Bridgwater  by 
twenty  more,  whose  lives  had  been  bought  by  Colonel  Kirke. 
Fortunate  we  esteemed  ourselves,  for  everywhere  the  roads  were 
lined  with  legs,  heads,  trunks,  and  arms,  boiled  and  blackened 
in  pitch,  stuck  up  for  the  terror  of  the  country.  Well,  you  shall 
judge  how  fortunate  we  were. 

When  we  reached  Bristol,  we  found  Mr.  Penne  upon  the  quay 
with  some  other  merchants.  He  changed  color  when  he  saw  us, 
but  quickly  ran  to  meet  us,  and  whispered  that  we  were  on  no 
account  to  betray  his  goodness  in  the  matter  of  ransom,  other- 
wise it  might  be  the  undoing  of  us  all,  and  perhaps  cause  his 
own  imprisonment.  He  also  told  me  that  the  ship  Avas  bound 
for  Barbadoes,  and  we  should  have  to  mess  with  the  other  pris- 
oners on  the  voyage,  but  that  it  would  all  be  made  up  to  us 
when  we  arrived.  He  further  added  that  he  had  requested  his 
correspondents  to  entertain  us  until  money  should  arrive  from 
England,  and  to  become  our  bankers  for  all  that  we  should  want. 
And  with  that  he  clasped  my  hand  tenderly,  and  with  a  "  God 
be  wi'  ye  "  he  left  us,  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

ROBIN,  HUMPHREY,  AND    BARNABY    REACH    BARBADOES. 

It  was  a  numerous  company  gathered  together  on  the  deck  of 
the  ship.  By  their  dress  they  were  country  lads ;  by  their  pale 
cheeks  they  were  prison  birds  like  ourselves ;  by  their  dismal 
faces  they  were  also,  like  ourselves,  rebels  condemned  to  the 
plantations.  Alas  !  how  many  of  these  poor  fellows  have  re- 
turned to  their  homes,  and  how  many  lie  in  the  graves  of  Ja- 
maica, Virginia,  and  Barbadoes  ?  As  for  preparations  for  a  voyage, 
not  one  of  us  could  make  any,  either  of  clothes  or  of  provisions. 
There  was  not  among  the  whole  company  so  much  as  a  change 
of  clothes :  nay,  there  was  not  even  a  razor,  and  our  faces  were 
bristling  horribly  with  the  beards  which  before  long  made  us 
look  like  so  many  Heyducs, 
13* 


298  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Among  tliem  I  presently  discerned,  to  my  great  joy,  no  other 
than  Barnaby.  His  coat  of  scarlet  was  now  so  ragged  and 
stained  that  neither  color  nor  original  shape  could  be  discerned  ; 
his  ruffles  and  cravat  of  lace  were  gone,  and  the  scarlet  sash, 
which  had  formerly  carried  his  hanger,  was  gone  also.  In  a 
word,  he  was  in  rags  and  covered  with  the  dust  of  the  road.  Yet 
his  jolly  countenance  showed  a  satisfaction  which  contrasted 
greatly  with  the  dejection  of  his  companions.  He  sniffed  the 
scent  of  tar  and  ropes  with  a  joy  which  was  visible  to  all,  and  he 
contemplated  the  ship  and  her  rigging  with  the  air  of  one  who 
is  at  home. 

Then  he  saw  us,  and  shouted  to  us  while  he  made  his  way 
among  the  rest. 

"  What  cheer,  ho  !  Humphrey,  brave  lad  of  boluses  ?" — never 
did  any  man  grasp  the  hand  of  a  friend  with  greater  vigor. 
"  This  is  better,  I  say,  than  the  accursed  prison,  where  one  gets 
never  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  Here  one  begins  to  smell  salt  water 
and  tarred  rope,  which  is  a  downright  w^holesome  smell.  Al- 
ready I  feel  hearty  again.  I  would  willingly  drink  a  tankard 
of  black  beer.  What,  Robin,  what !  We  are  not  going  to  be 
hanged  after  all.  Lift  up  thy  head  therefore  ;  is  this  a  time  for 
looking  glum  ?  We  shall  live  to  hang  Judge  Jeffreys  yet — 
what !  Thy  looks  are  poorly,  lad.  Is  it  the  prison  or  is  it  thy  dis- 
appointment ?  That  villain  Benjamin  !  Hark  ye,  Robin  " — some 
men's  faces  look  black  when  they  threaten,  but  Barnaby's  grew 
broader,  as  if  the  contemplation  of  revenge  made  him  the  hap- 
pier— "  hark  3^6,  this  is  my  business.  No  one  shall  interfere  with 
me  in  this.  Benjamin  is  my  affair.  No  one  but  I  myself  must 
kill  Benjamin:  not  you,  Humphrey,  because  he  is  your  cousin; 
nor  you  Robin,  because  you  must  not  kill  Grace's  husband,  even 
to  get  back  your  own  sweetheart."  Barnaby  spoke  wisdom  here  ; 
in  spite  of  Robin's  vows,  he  could  not  get  Grace  for  himself  by 
killing  her  husband,  unworthy  though  he  was.  "  Benjamin, "Jie 
went  on,  "  may  call  her  wife,  but  if  he  seek  to  make  her  his  wife, 
if  I  know  Sis  aright,  he  will  meet  his  match.  As  for  her  safety, 
I  know  that  she  must  be  safe.  For  why  ?  Wherever  there  are 
folks  of  her  religious  kidney  there  will  she  find  friends.  Cheer 
up,  Robin  ;  soon  or  late  I  will  kill  this  fine  husband  of  hers." 

But  Robin  shook  his  head. 

Barnaby  then  asked  if  I  knew  whither  we  were  bound.     I  told 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  299 

him  Barbadoes,  according  to  the  information  given  me  by  Mr. 
Penne. 

"  Why,"  said  Barnaby,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  this  is  brave  news 
indeed.  There  is  no  place  I  would  sooner  choose.  'Tis  a  small 
island,  to  begin  with ;  give  me  a  small  island  so  that  the  sea  run- 
neth all  around  it,  and  is  everywhere  within  easy  reach.  Where 
there  is  sea  there  are  boats :  where  there  are  boats  there  arc  the 
means  of  escape.  Cheer  up,  my  lads  !  I  know  the  Spanish  Main 
right  well.  Give  me  a  tight  boat,  I  care  not  how  small,  and  a 
keg  of  water,  and  I  will  sail  her  anywhere.  Ha  !  We  are  bound 
to  Barbadoes,  are  we  ?  this  is  brave  news  !" 

I  asked  him  next  what  kind  of  place  it  is. 

"  'Tis  a  hot  place,"  he  replied.  "  A  man  is  always  thirsty,  and 
there  is  plenty  to  drink  except  water,  which  is  said  to  be  scarce. 
But  the  merchants  and  planters  want  none.  They  have  wine  of 
the  best,  of  Spain  and  France  and  of  Madeira.  Cider  and  strong 
ale  they  import  from  England.  And  drinks  they  make  in  the 
country — perino  and  mobbie,  I  remember,  guppo  and  plantain 
wine  and  kill-devil.  'Tis  a  rare  country  for  drink,  and  many 
there  be  who  die  of  too  much.  Hold  up  thy  head,  Robin ;  we 
will  drink  damnation  to  Benjamin  yet.  But  'tis  I  who  shall  kill 
him.     Courage,  I  say.     What !     Our  turn  will  come  again." 

I  told  him,  then,  what  had  been  done  by  Mr,  George  Penne, 
namely,  the  ransom  bought  by  the  rector  for  us  all. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  with  some  discontent,  "  we  shall  not  be  long 
upon  the  island  after  all,  and  perhaps  the  money  might  have 
been  better  bestowed.  But  'twas  kindly  done  of  the  rector. 
As  for  the  banishment,  I  value  it  not  one  farthing.  One  place  is 
as  good  as  another,  and  for  my  own  part  I  love  the  West  India 
islands.  We  shall  have  our  choice  among  them  all,  because 
where  there  are  boats  and  the  open  sea  a  man  can  go  whitherso- 
ever pleaseth  him  best.  The  voyage  out" — he  glanced  round 
him — "  will,  I  fear,  be  choking  work ;  the  rations  will  be  short, 
there  will  be  neither  drink  nor  tobacco,  and  at  nights  we  shall 
lie  close.  A  more  melancholy  company  I  never  saw.  Patience, 
my  lads,  our  turn  will  come." 

Well,  'twas  a  special  mercy  that  we  had  with  us  one  man,  at 
least,  who  preserved  his  cheerfulness,  for  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany were  as  melancholy  as  King  James  himself  could  have  de- 
sired.    Indeed,  to  look  back  upon  the  voyage  is  to  recall  the 


300  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

most  miserable  time  that  can  be  imagined.  First  of  all,  as  I 
have  said,  we  were  wholly  unprepared  for  a  voyage,  having  noth- 
ing at  all  Avith  us.  Thus  we  had  bad  weather  at  the  outset, 
which  not  only  made  our  people  ill,  but  caused  the  biscuit  to  be 
all  spoiled,  so  that  before  the  end  of  the  voyage  a  few  pease  with 
the  sweepings  of  the  biscuit-room,  and  sometimes  a  little  tough 
beef,  was  all  our  diet,  and  for  drink  nothing,  not  so  much  as  a 
pannikin  of  beer,  but  water,  and  that  turbid  and  not  too  much 
of  it. 

As  for  me,  I  kept  my  health  chiefly  by  the  method  common 
among  physicians  :  namely,  by  watching  the  symptoms  of  others. 
But  mostly  was  I  concerned  with  the  condition  of  Robin.  For 
the  poor  lad,  taking  so  much  to  heart  the  dreadful  villainy  which 
had  been  practised  upon  Grace,  never  once  held  up  his  head,  and 
would  talk  and  think  of  nothing  else  but  of  that  poor  girl. 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  he  asked  a  hundred  times.  "  Where  hath 
she  found  a  shelter  and  a  hiding-place  ?  How  shall  she  escape 
the  villain,  who  will  now  do  what  he  pleases,  since  we  are  out  of 
his  way  ?  And  no  help  for  her ;  not  any  until  she  die,  or  until 
he  dies.  And  we  cannot  even  send  her  a  letter  to  console  her 
poor  heart.  Humphrey,  it  drives  me  mad  to  think  that  every 
day  carries  us  farther  from  her.  If  I  could  but  be  with  her,  to 
protect  her  against  her  husband  !  Humphrey,  Barnaby  said  well, 
I  could  not  get  her  back  to  me  over  the  dead  body  of  her  hus- 
band. But  to  protect  her,  to  stand  between  her  and  the  man 
she  hath  sworn  to  obey  !" 

There  is  no  more  dangerous  condition  of  the  mind  than  that 
which  we  call  despair.  It  is,  I  take  it,  a  disease,  and  that  of  the 
most  dangerous  kind.  I  have  observed  many  men  in  that  con- 
dition. With  some  the  devil  enters  into  them,  finding  all  the 
doors  open  and  unguarded ;  nay,  and  receives  a  warm  welcome. 
With  others  it  is  as  if  the  body  itself  were  left  without  its  armor ; 
a  cheerful  and  hopeful  mind  being  certainly  an  armor  against 
disease,  capable  of  warding  off  many  of  those  invisible  arrows 
which  are  always  flying  about  the  air,  and  striking  us  down  with 
fevers,  agues,  calentures,  and  other  pains  and  grievous  diseases. 

I  marvel  that  more  of  the  men  on  board  were  not  sick ;  for, 
to  begin  with,  the  water  was  thick  and  swarmed  with  wriggling 
creatures,  difficult  to  avoid  in  drinking ;  and  then,  though  during 
the  day  we  were  supposed  to  be  on  deck  (where  the  air  was  fresh 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  301 

even  if  the  sun  was  hot),  at  night  we  were  terribly  crowded  below, 
and  lay  too  close  for  health  or  comfort.  However,  we  finally 
made  Carlisle  Bay,  and  the  port  of  St.  Michaels,  or  the  Bridge. 
And  I  must  say  this  for  Baruaby,  that  he  maintained  throughout 
the  whole  voyage  his  cheerfulness,  and  that  he  never  ceased  to 
make  his  plans  for  escape,  drawing  on  a  paper,  which  he  pro- 
cured, a  rough  chart  of  the  Spanish  Main,  with  as  many  islands 
as  he  could  remember.  Of  these  there  are  hundreds,  desolate  and 
safe  for  fugitives,  some  with  neither  water  nor  green  trees,  and 
some  with  springs  and  woods,  wild  fruit,  land  turtles  on  the  shore, 
fish  in  the  sea,  and  everything  that  man  can  desire.  We  made 
the  land  one  day  in  the  forenoon. 

"  Barbadoes,"  said  Barnaby,  pointing  to  a  little  cloud  far  away 
on  the  horizon.  "  Well,  of  this  job  I  am  well-nigh  sick.  To- 
morrow, if  the  wind  holds,  we  shall  have  sailed  round  the  island, 
and  shall  beat  up  for  Carlisle  Bay.  Well,  it  is  lucky  for  us  that 
we  have  this  letter  of  Mr.  Penne's.  We  will  go — I  know  the 
place  well — to  the  sign  of  the  Eock  and  Turtle,  kept  by  old  Moth- 
er Rosemary,  if  she  lives  still,  or  if  she  be  dead  by  one  of  her 
daughters — she  had  fifty  daughters  at  least,  all  buxom  mulatto 
girls.  There  will  we  put  off  these  filthy  rags,  have  a  wash  in  a 
tub  of  fine  water,  get  shaven,  and  then  with  smooth  chins  and 
clean  shirts  we  will  sit  down  to  a  dinner  such  as  the  old  woman 
knows  how  to  make — a  potato  pudding  and  Scots  collops,  with 
Rhenish  wine,  and  afterwards  a  cool  cup  of  beverage,  which  is 
nothing  in  the  world  but  squeezed  limes  with  sugar  and  water, 
fit  for  such  a  womanly  stomach  as  yours,  doctor.  With  this 
and  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and  perhaps  a  song  and  (when  your  wor- 
ship hath  gone  to  bed)  a  dance  from  one  of  the  girls — I  say,  my 
lad,  with  this  I  shall  be  ready  to  forget  Sedgemoor,  and  to  for- 
give Judge  Jeffreys.  AVhen  we  are  tired  of  Barbadoes,  we  will 
take  boat  and  sail  away ;  I  know  one  island  at  least  where  they 
care  nothing  for  King  James.     Thither  will  we  go,  my  lad." 

Well,  what  we  found  at  our  port  and  how  we  fared  was  not 
quite  as  Barnaby  expected  and  hoped,  as  you  shall  hear.  But  I 
must  admire  the  cunning  of  the  man  Penne,  who  not  only  took 
from  Grace,  poor  child,  all  her  brother's  money,  amounting  to  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  or  thereabouts  (which  you  have  read) 
on  the  pretext  of  bestowing  it  for  the  advantage  of  all,  but  also 
received  two  hundred  guineas  from  Mr.  Boscorel  on  the  same 


302  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

pretence.  This  made  in  all  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  And 
not  one  penny,  not  a  single  penny,  of  this  great  sum  did  the  man 
spend  upon  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  given  him. 

You  have  heard  how  the  merchants  and  planters  came  aboard 
the  ships  which  put  in  with  servants  and  slaves,  and  how  these  are 
put  for  sale,  one  at  a  time.  As  was  the  sale  described  by  Grace, 
just  such  was  ours.  Though,  I  take  it,  our  lads  were  not  so  miser- 
able a  company  as  were  those  on  board  her  ship.  Pale  of  cheek 
th'fey  looked,  and  dejected,  and  some  were  sick  with  various  dis- 
orders, caused  by  the  confinement  of  the  prison  or  the  sufferings 
of  the  voyage.  They  put  us  up  one  after  the  other,  and  we  were 
sold.  I  forget  what  I  myself  fetched,  and,  indeed,  it  matters  not, 
save  that  many  jests  were  passed  at  our  expense,  and  that  when 
one  was  put  up,  as  Robin,  for  instance,  who  had  been  a  captain 
in  the  rebel  army,  the  salesman  was  eloquent  in  praise  of  his  rich 
and  illustrious  family,  who  would  never  endure  that  this  unfort- 
unate man  should  continue  in  servitude.  But  Barnaby  put  his 
tongue  in  his  cheek  and  laughed. 

When  the  sale  was  concluded,  we  were  bundled  into  boats  and 
taken  ashore  to  the  barracoon,  of  which  you  have  heard  from 
Grace.  Here  the  same  officer  as  read  to  her  party  the  laws  con- 
cerning servants  and  their  duties,  and  the  punishments  which 
await  transgressions,  read  them  also  to  ourselves. 

"Faith,"  Barnaby  whispered,  "there  will  be  great  scoring  of 
backs  before  many  days  are  done,  unless  their  bark  is  worse 
than  their  bite." 

This  done,  I  thought  it  was  time  to  present  my  letter.  There- 
fore I  stepped  forward  and  informed  the  officer,  who,  by  reason 
of  his  gown  and  wig,  and  the  beadles  who  were  with  him,  I 
judged  to  be  some  lawyer,  that,  with  my  cousin  and  another,  I 
held  a  letter  which  should  hold  us  free  from  servitude. 

"Ay,  ay,"  he  said.     "Where  is  that  letter?" 

So  I  gave  it  to  him.  'Twas  addressed  to  one  Jonathan  Pol- 
whele,  and  enjoined  him  to  receive  the  three  prisoners,  named 
Humphrey  Challis,  Robin  Challis,  and  Barnaby  Eykin,  pay  for 
them  such  sums  as  would  reasonably  be  required  to  redeem  them 
from  servitude,  and  to  advance  them  such  moneys  as  they  would 
want  at  the  outset  for  maintenance,  the  whole  to  be  accounted 
for  in  Mr.  Jonathan  Polwhele's  next  despatches  to  his  obedient, 
much  obliged  servant,  G.  P. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  303 

"  Sir,"  said  the  officer,  when  he  had  read  the  letter  through, 
"  it  is  addressed  to  Mr.  Jonathan  Polwhele.  There  is  no  mer- 
chant or  planter  of  that  name  on  the  whole  island." 

He  gave  me  back  the  letter.  "  If  this,"  he  said,  "  is  all  you 
have  to  show,  there  is  no  reason  why  you  and  your  friends 
should  not  march  with  the  rest." 

Truly,  wc  had  nothing  else  to  show.  Not  only  was  there  no 
one  named  Polwhele  on  the  island,  but  there  never  had  been  any 
one  of  that  name.  Therefore  it  was  plain  that  we  had  been 
tricked,  and  that  the  man  named  George  Penne  was  a  villain. 
Alas,  poor  Barnaby !  Where  now  were  his  cool  cups  and  his 
pipe  of  tobacco  ?  Then  the  officer  beckoned  to  a  gentleman — a 
sober  and  grave  person — standing  near  him,  and  spoke  to  him. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  merchant,  "permit  me  to  read  this 
letter.  So,  it  is  the  handwriting  of  Mr.  George  Penne,  which  I 
know  well.  There  is  here  some  strange  mistake.  The  letter  is 
addressed  to  Mr.  Jonathan  Polwhele.  But  there  is  no  one  of 
that  name  in  the  place.  I  am,  myself,  Mr.  Penne's  correspon- 
dent in  this  island ;  my  name,  gentlemen,  is  Sefton ;  not  Pol- 
whele." 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  "  do  you  know  Mr.  Penne  ?" 

"  I  have  never  seen  him.  He  consigns  to  my  care  once  or 
twice  a  year  a  cargo  of  transported  servants,  being  rogues  and 
thieves  sent  here  instead  of  to  the  gallows.  He  ships  them  to 
my  care,  I  say,  as  he  hath  shipped  the  company  arrived  this 
morning,  and  I  sell  them  for  him,  taking  for  my  share  a  per- 
centage, as  agreed  upon,  and  remitting  to  him  the  balance  in 
sugar  and  tobacco." 

"  Is  there  no  letter  from  him  ?" 

"  There  is  a  letter  in  which  he  advises  me  of  so  many  rebels 
consigned  to  me  in  order  to  be  sold.  Some  among  them,  he 
says,  were  captains  and  officers  in  Monmouth's  army,  and  some 
are  of  good  family,  among  whom  he  especially  names  Robin 
and  Humphrey  Challis.    But  there  is  not  a  word  about  ransom." 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  knowing  nothing  as  yet  of  Grace  and  her  money, 
"  two  hundred  guineas  have  been  paid  to  Mr.  Penne  by  the  Rev. 
Philip  Boscorel,  Rector  of  Bradford  Orcas,  for  our  ransom." 

"  Nothing  is  said  of  this,"  he  replied,  gravely.  "  Plainly, 
gentlemen,  without  despatches  from  Mr.  Penne,  I  cannot  act  for 
you.     You  have  a  letter.     It  is  written  by  that  gentleman  ;  it  is 


304  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

addressed  to  Mr.  Polwlicle ;  it  says  nothing  about  Barbadoes, 
and  would  serve  for  Jamaica  or  for  Virginia.  So  great  a  sum 
as  two  hundred  guineas  cannot  have  been  forgotten.  I  exhort 
you,  therefore,  to  patience  until  other  letters  arrive.  Why,  two 
hundred  guineas  would  have  gone  far  to  redeem  you  all  three, 
and  to  maintain  you  for  a  great  while.  Gentlemen,  I  am  grieved 
for  you,  because  there  is  no  help  for  it,  but  that  you  must  go 
with  the  planter  who  hath  bought  you,  and  obey  his  orders.  I 
will,  however,  send  to  Mr.  Penne  an  account  of  this  charge,  and 
I  would  advise  that  you  lose  no  time  in  writing  to  your  friends 
at  home." 

"  Heart  up,  lad,"  cried  Barnaby,  for  I  turned  faint  upon  this 
terrible  discovery,  and  would  have  fallen,  but  he  held  me  up. 
"  Patience,  our  turn  will  come." 

"  Write  that  letter,"  said  the  merchant  again  —  "  write  that 
letter  quickly,  so  that  it  may  go  with  the  next  vessel.  Other- 
wise the  work  is  sometimes  hard  and  the  heat  is  great."  So 
he  turned  and  left  us. 

"  Courage,  man,"  said  Barnaby.  "  To  every  dog  his  day.  If 
now,  for  live  minutes  only,  I  could  have  my  thumb  on  Mr. 
Penne's  windpipe  and  my  fingers  round  his  neck !  And  I 
thought  to  spend  the  evening  joyfully  at  Mother  Rosemary's. 
Courage,  lad  ;  I  have  seen  already,"  he  whispered,  "  a  dozen  boats 
in  the  bay,  any  one  of  which  will  serve  our  turn." 

But  Robin  paid  no  heed,  whatever  happened.  He  stood  up 
when  his  name  was  called,  and  was  sold  without  showing  any 
emotion.  When  we  found  that  we  had  been  tricked  he  seemed 
as  if  he  neither  heard  nor  regarded. 

When  all  was  ready  we  were  marched,  twenty  in  number, 
along  a  white  and  dusty  road,  to  our  estate.  By  great  good- 
fortune,  rather  than  by  Providence,  we  were  all  bought  by  the 
same  master.  He  was,  it  is  true,  a  bad  man,  but  to  be  together 
was  a  happiness  which  we  could  not  expect.  He  bought  us  all 
because  he  understood  that  we  belonged  to  the  same  family,  and 
that  one  of  position,  in  the  hope  of  receiving  substantial  ransom. 
This  man  rode  with  us,  accompanied  by  two  overseers  (these 
were  themselves  under  the  same  sentence),  who  cracked  their 
whips  continually,  and  cursed  us  if  we  lagged.  Their  bark  was 
worse,  we  afterwards  found,  than  their  bite  ;  for  it  was  only  in 
the  master's  presence  that  they  behaved  thus  brutishly,  and  in 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  305 

order  to  curry  favor  with  liim,  and  to  prevent  being  reduced 
again  to  tlie  rank  of  those  who  served  in  the  field.  There  was 
no  doubt,  from  the  very  outset,  that  we  were  afflicted  with  a 
master  whose  like,  I  would  hope,  is  not  to  be  found  upon  the 
island  of  Barbadoes.  Briefly,  he  was  one  whose  appearance, 
voice,  and  manner  all  alike  proclaimed  him  openly  to  all  the 
world  as  a  drunkard,  a  profligate,  and  a  blasphemer,  A  drunk- 
ard he  was  of  that  kind  who  are  seldom  wholly  drunk,  and  yet 
are  never  sober ;  who  begin  the  day  with  a  glass,  and  go  on  tak- 
ing more  glasses  all  day  long;  with  small  ale  for  breakfast, 
strong  ale  and  Madeira  for  dinner,  a  tankard  in  the  afternoon, 
and  for  supper  more  strong  ale  and  Madeira,  and  before  bed  an- 
other tankard.  As  for  compassion,  or  tenderness,  or  any  of  the 
virtues  which  a  man  who  holds  other  men  in  slavery  ought  to 
possess,  he  had  none  of  them. 

Let  me  speak  of  him  with  no  more  bitterness  than  is  necessary. 
We  have,  I  think,  all  forgiven  him,  and  he  hath  long  since  gone 
to  a  place  where  he  can  do  no  more  harm  to  any,  but  awaiteth 
judgment,  perhaps,  in  the  sure  and  certain  hope  of  which  the 
funeral  service  speaks.     But  this  is  open  to  doubt. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  estate  the  master  dismounted, 
gave  his  horse  to  a  negro,  and  ordered  us  to  be  drawn  up  in 
line. 

He  then  made  a  short  speech.  He  said  that  he  had  bought 
us,  rebels  and  villains  as  we  were,  and  that  he  meant  to  get  his 
money's  worth  out  of  us,  or  he  would  cut  us  all  to  pieces.  Other 
things  he  told  us  which  I  pass  over,  because  they  were  but  repe- 
titions of  this  assurance.  He  then  proceeded  to  examine  us  in 
detail.  When  he  came  to  me,  he  cursed  and  swore  because,  he 
said,  he  had  been  made  to  pay  for  a  sound,  proper  man,  and  had 
got  a  crookback  for  his  bargain.  I  told  him  that,  with  submis- 
sion, he  might.find  the  crookback,  who  was  a  physician,  a  more 
profitable  bargain  than  many  a  stronger  man. 

"What!"  he  roared.  "Thou  art  a  physician,  eh?  Wouldst 
slink  out  of  the  field-work  and  sit  idle  among  bottles  and  bo- 
luses ?  John,"  he  turned  to  one  of  the  overseers,  "  pay  particular 
attention,  I  command  thee,  to  this  learned  physician.  If  he  so 
much  as  turn  round  in  his  work,  make  his  shoulders  smart." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  overseer. 

"And  what  art  thou,  sirrah?"     He  turned  next  to  Barnaby. 

U 


306  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Another  learned  physician,  no  doubt  ]  or  a  divine,  a  bisliop, 
likely,  or  a  dean  at  the  least." 

"  As  for  what  I  was,"  said  Barnaby,  "  that  is  neither  here  nor 
there.  For  what  I  am  —  I  suppose  I  am  your  servant  for  ten 
years,  until  our  pardons  are  sent  us." 

"  Thou  art  an  impudent  dog,  I  dare  swear,"  returned  the 
master.  "  I  remember  thou  wast  a  captain  in  the  rebel  army, 
once  a  sailor ;  well,  take  care,  lest  thou  taste  the  cat." 

"  Gentlemen  who  are  made  to  taste  the  cat,"  said  Barnaby, 
"  are  apt  to  remember  the  taste  of  it  when  their  time  is  up." 

''  What !"  he  cried.  "  You  dare  to  threaten  ?  Take  that,  and 
that,"  and  so  began  to  belabor  him  about  the  head.  I  trembled, 
lest  Barnaby  should  return  the  blows.  But  he  did  not.  lie 
only  held  up  his  arm  to  protect  his  head,  and  presently,  when 
the  master  desisted,  he  shook  himself  like  a  dog. 

"  I  shall  remember  the  taste  of  that  wood,"  he  said,  quietly. 

The  master  looked  as  if  lie  would  renew  the  cudgelling,  but 
thought  better  of  it. 

Then,  without  more  violence,  we  were  assigned  our  quarters. 
A  cottage  or  hut  was  given  to  us ;  we  were  served  with  a  ham- 
mock and  a  rug  each  ;  a  pannikin,  basin,  spoon,  and  platter 
for  each ;  a  Monmouth  cap,  two  shirts,  common  and  coarse,  two 
pair  of  canvas  breeches,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  for  each,  so  that 
we  looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  fellows  who  live  by  loading 
and  unloading  the  ships  in  the  port  of  Bristol.  Yet  the  change 
after  the  long  voyage  was  grateful.  They  served  us  next  with 
some  of  the  stuff  they  call  loblollie,  and  then  the  night  fell,  and 
we  lay  down  in  our  hammocks,  which  were  certainly  softer  than 
the  planks  of  the  ship,  and  then  fell  fast  asleep  in  spite  of  the 
humming  and  the  biting  of  the  merrywings,  and  so  slept  till  the 
break  of  day. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

WITH     THE     HOE. 


Before  it  was  daylight  we  were  aroused  by  the  discordant 
clang  of  the  bell.     Work  was  about  to  begin. 

In  these  latitudes  there  is  little  twilight ;  the  day  begins  as  it 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  307 

ends,  with  a  kind  of  suddenness.  I  arose,  being  thus  summoned, 
and  looked  out.  Long  rays  of  light  were  shooting  up  the  sky 
from  the  east,  and,  though  the  stars  were  still  visible,  the  day 
was  fast  breaking.  In  a  few  moments  it  became  already  so  light 
that  I  could  see  across  the  yard,  or  what  the  Italians  would  call 
the  piazza,  with  its  ragged  bonannow  leaves,  the  figures  of  our 
fellow-slaves  moving  about  the  huts,  and  their  voices,  alas  ! — sad 
and  melancholy  are  the  voices  of  those  who  work  upon  his  maj- 
esty's plantations.  Two  old  negresses  went  about  among  the 
new-comers  carrying  a  bucket  full  of  a  yellow  mess  which  they 
distributed  among  us,  and  giving  us  to  understand  that  this  bowl 
of  yellow  porridge  or  loblollie,  made  out  of  Indian  corn,  was  all 
we  should  have  before  dinner.  They  also  gave  us  to  under- 
stand in  their  broken  English,  which  is  far  worse  than  the  jar- 
gon talked  by  some  of  our  country  people,  that  we  should  have 
to  prepare  our  own  meals  for  the  future,  and  that  they  would 
show  us  how  to  make  this  delectable  mess. 

"  Eat  it,"  said  Barnaby.  "  A  pig  is  better  fed  at  home.  Eat 
it,  Robin,  lest  thou  faint  in  the  sun.  Perhaps  there  will  be 
something  better  for  dinner.  Heigh-ho  !  only  to  think  of  Mother 
Rosemary's,  where  I  thought  to  lie  last  night !     Patience,  lads." 

One  would  not  seem  to  dwell  too  long  on  the  simple  fare  of 
convicts,  therefore  I  will  say,  once  for  all,  that  our  rations  con- 
sisted of  nothing  at  all  but  the  Indian  meal,  and  of  salt  beef  or 
salt  fish.  The  old  hands  and  the  negro  slaves  know  how  to 
improve  their  fare  in  many  ways,  and  humane  masters  will  give 
their  servants  quantities  of  the  fruits  such  as  grow  here  in  great 
abundance,  as  plantains,  lemons,  limes,  bonannows,  guavas,  and 
the  like.  And  many  of  the  black  slaves  have  small  gardens  be- 
hind their  huts,  where  they  grow  onions,  yams,  potatoes,  and 
other  things,  which  they  cultivate  on  Sundays.  They  are  all 
great  thieves  also,  stealing,  whenever  they  can,  poultry,  eggs,  and 
fruit,  so  that  they  grow  fat  and  sleek,  while  the  white  servants 
daily  grow  more  meagre  and  fall  into  diseases  by  the  poorness  of 
the  food.  Then,  as  to  drink ;  there  are  many  kinds  of  drink 
(apart  from  the  wines  of  Spain,  Portugal,  Canary,  Madeira,  and 
France)  made  in  the  country  itself :  such  as  mobbie,  which  is  a 
fermented  liquor  of  potatoes  ;  and  perino,  from  the  liquor  of 
chewed  cassava  root;  punch,  which  is  water  and  sugar  left  to 
work  for  ten  days ;  rum,  which  is  distilled  in  every  ingenio,  and 


308  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

is  a  spirit  as  strong  as  brandy,  but  not  so  wholesome.  Those 
who  have  been  long  in  the  island,  even  the  servants,  though  with- 
out a  penny,  know  how  and  where  to  get  these  drinks ;  and 
since  there  is  no  consoler,  to  the  common  sort,  so  good  as  strong 
drink,  those  who  are  able  to  drink  every  day  of  these  things  be- 
come somewhat  reconciled  to  their  lot. 

"  Come  out,  ye  dogs  of  rebels  and  traitors  !"  It  was  the  loud 
and  harsh  voice  of  the  master  himself  who  thus  disturbed  us  at 
our  breakfast.  'Twas  his  custom  thus  to  rise  early  and  to  wit- 
ness the  beginning  of  the  day's  work.  And  'twas  his  kindly 
nature  which  impelled  him  thus  to  welcome  and  encourage  his 
newly  bought  slaves.  "  Come  out,  I  say.  Ye  shall  now  show 
of  what  stuff  ye  are  made.  Instead  of  pulling  down  your  law- 
ful king,  ye  shall  pull  up  your  lawful  master  and  make  him  rich. 
If  ye  never  did  a  day's  work  in  your  lives,  ye  shall  now  learn 
the  how  by  the  must.  Come  forth,  I  say,  ye  lazy,  guzzling 
skulkers." 

"  x\y,  ay,"  said  Barnaby,  leisurely  scraping  his  bowl.  "  We 
are  like,  indeed,  to  be  overfed  here."  He  rolled,  sailor-fashion, 
out  of  the  hut. 

"  Barnaby,"  I  said,  "  for  God's  sake  say  nothing  to  anger  the 
master.     There  is  no  help  but  in  patience  and  in  hope." 

So  we  too  went  forth.  The  master,  redfaced  as  he  was,  looked 
as  if  he  had  been  drinking  already. 

"  So,"  he  cried.  "  Here  is  the  learned  physician.  Your 
health,  doctor.  And  here  is  the  gallant  captain,  who  was  once 
a  sailor.  The  air  of  the  fields,  captain,  will  remind  you,  per- 
chance, of  the  quarter-deck.  This  young  gentleman  looks  so 
gallant  and  gay  that  I  warrant  he  will  ply  the  hoe  with  a  light 
and  frolic  heart.  Your  healths,  gentlemen.  Hark  ye  now. 
You  are  come  of  a  good  stock,  I  hear.  Therefore  have  I  bought 
you  at  a  great  price,  looking  to  get  my  money  back  and  more. 
Some  planters  would  suffer  you  to  lie  at  your  ease  cockered  up 
with  bonavist  and  Madeira  till  the  money  comes.  As  for  me,  I 
shall  now  show  you  what  you  will  continue  to  do  unless  the 
money  comes.  Therefore  you  will  at  once,  I  doubt  not,  ask  for 
paper  and  pen  and  presently  write.  Sixty  pounds  a  piece,  gen- 
tlemen, not  one  penny  less,  will  purchase  your  freedom.  Till 
then,  the  fields.  And  no  difference  between  white  and  black, 
but  one  whip  for  both." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  309 

AVe  made  no  reply,  but  took  tlie  lioes  -wliicli  were  given  out 
to  us,  and  marched  with  the  rest  of  the  melancholy  troop. 

There  were  as  many  blacks  as  whites ;  we  were  divided  into 
gangs,  with  every  gang  a  driver  armed  with  a  whip ;  and  over 
all  the  overseers,  who,  by  their  severity,  showed  their  zeal  for 
the  master.  The  condition  of  slavery  hath  in  it  something 
devilish  both  for  those  who  are  slaves  and  those  who  are  mas- 
ters. The  former  it  drives  into  despair  and  fills  with  cunning, 
dishonesty,  treachery,  and  revenge.  Why,  the  slaves  have  been 
known  to  rise  in  rebellion,  and  while  they  had  the  power  have 
inflicted  tortures  unheard  of  upon  their  masters.  The  latter  it 
makes  cruel  and  unfeeling ;  it  tempts  them  continually  to  sins 
of  all  kinds  ;  it  puts  into  their  power  the  lives,  the  bodies — nay, 
the  very  souls  of  the  poor  folk  whom  they  buy.  I  do  maintain 
and  conceal  not  my  opinion,  that  no  man  ought,  in  a  Christian 
country,  to  be  a  slave  except  for  a  term  of  years,  and  then  for 
punishment.  I  have  been  myself  a  slave,  and  I  know  the  misery 
and  the  injustice  of  the  condition.  But  it  is  idle  to  hope  that 
the  planters  will  abandon  this  means  of  cultivating  their  estates, 
and  it  is  certain  that  in  hot  countries  no  man  will  work  except 
by  compulsion. 

The  whip  carried  by  the  driver  is  a  dreadful  instrument,  long, 
thick,  and  strongly  plaited,  with  a  short  handle.  It  is  coiled 
and  slung  round  the  shoulders  when  it  is  not  being  used  to  ter- 
rify or  to  punish,  and  I  know  well  that  its  loud  crack  produces 
upon  the  mind  a  sensation  of  fear  and  of  horror,  such  as  the 
thunder  of  artillery  or  the  sight  of  the  enemy  charging  could 
never  cause  even  to  a  coward.  The  fellows  are  also  extremely 
dexterous  in  the  use  of  it ;  they  can  inflict  a  punishment  not 
worse  than  the  flogging  of  a  schoolboy  ;  or,  with  no  greater  out- 
ward show  of  strength,  they  will  cut  and  gash  the  flesh  like  a 
Russian  executioner  with  his  cruel  instrument  which  they  call 
the  knout. 

For  slight  offences,  such  as  laziness  or  carelessness  in  the  field, 
the  former  is  administered ;  but  for  serious  offences  the  latter. 
One  sad  execution  (I  cannot  call  it  less)  I  myself  witnessed. 
'  What  the  poor  wretch  had  done  I  know  not,  but  I  can  never  for- 
get his  piercing  shrieks  as  the  whip  cut  into  the  bleeding  flesh. 
This  is  not  punishment  ;  it  is  savage  and  revengeful  cruelty. 
Yet  the  master  and  the  overseers  looked  on  with  callous  eyes. 


310  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

They  marclied  us  to  a  field  about  lialf  a  mile  from  our  village 
or  camp,  and  tliere,  drawing  us  up  in  line,  set  us  to  work.  Our 
task  was  with  the  hoe,  to  dig  out  square  holes,  each  of  the  same 
depth  and  size,  in  which  the  sugar-canes  are  planted,  a  small 
piece  of  old  cane  being  laid  in  each.  These  hples  are  cut  with 
regularity  and  exactness,  in  long  lines  and  equally  distant  from 
each  other.  It  is  the  driver's  business  to  keep  all  at  work  at 
the  same  rate  of  progress,  so  that  no  one  should  lag  behind,  no 
one  should  stop  to  rest  or  breathe,  no  one  should  do  less  than 
his  neighbors.  The  poor  wretches,  with  bent  bodies  streaming 
with  their  exertions,  speedily  become  aiSicted  with  a  burning 
thirst,  their  legs  tremble,  their  backs  grow  stiff  and  ache,  their 
whole  bodies  become  full  of  pain ;  and  yet  they  may  not  rest 
nor  stand  upright  to  breathe  awhile,  nor  stop  to  drink,  until  the 
driver  calls  a  halt.  From  time  to  time  the  negroes,  men  and 
women  alike,  were  dragged  out  of  the  ranks  and  laid  on  the 
ground,  three  or  four  at  a  time,  to  receive  lashes  for  not  making 
the  holes  deep  enough  or  fast  enough.  At  home  one  can  daily 
see  the  poor  creatures  flogged  in  Bridewell ;  every  day  there  are 
rogues  tied  to  the  cartwheel  and  flogged  well-nigh  to  death; 
but  a  ploughman  is  not  flogged  for  the  badness  of  his  furrow, 
nor  is  a  cobbler  flogged  because  he  maketh  his  shoon  ill.  And 
our  men  do  not  shriek  and  sci'eam  so  wildly  as  the  negroes,  who 
are  an  ignorant  people,  and  have  never  learned  the  least  self- 
restraint.  It  was  horrid  also  to  see  how  their  bodies  were  scarred 
with  the  marks  of  old  floggings,  and  branded  with  letters  to 
show  by  whom  they  had  been  bought.  As  for  our  poor  fellows, 
who  had  been  brave  recruits  in  Monmouth's  army,  they  trem- 
bled at  the  sight  and  worked  all  the  harder,  yet  some  of  them 
with  the  tears  in  their  eyes,  to  think  that  they  should  be  brought 
to  such  a  dismal  fate,  and  to  herd  with  these  poor  ignorant  black 
people. 

'Twas  the  design  of  the  master  to  set  us  to  the  very  hardest 
work  from  the  beginning,  so  that  we  should  be  the  more  anxious 
to  get  remission  of  our  pains.  For  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
all  the  work  on  the  estate  was  so  hard  and  irksome  as  that  with 
the  hoes,  which  is  generally  kept  for  the  strongest  and  hardiest 
of  the  negroes,  men  and  women.  There  are  many  other  em- 
ployments :  some  are  put  to  weed  the  canes  ;  some  to  fell  wood, 
some  to  cleave  it ;  some  to  attend  the  ingenio,  the  boiling-house, 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  311 

the  still-house,  the  curing-house ;  some  to  cut  the  maize ;  some 
to  gather  provisions,  of  bonavist,  maize,  yams,  potatoes,  cassava, 
and  the  like ;  some  for  the  smith's  forge ;  some  to  attend  to 
the  oxen  and  sheep  ;  some  to  the  camels  and  assenegoes,  and 
the  like — so  that  had  the  master  pleased  he  might  have  set  us 
to  work  better  fitted  to  English  gentlemen.  Well,  his  greedi- 
ness and  cruelty  were  defeated,  as  you  will  see.  As  for  the  do- 
mestic economy  of  the  estate,  there  were  on  it  five  hundred  acres 
of  land,  of  which  two  hundred  were  planted  with  sugar,  eighty 
for  pasture,  one  hundred  and  twenty  for  wood,  twenty  for  to- 
bacco, five  for  ginger,  and  as  many  for  cotton-wool,  and  seventy 
for  provisions — viz.,  corn,  potatoes,  plantains,  cassava,  and  bona- 
vist, with  a  few  for  fruit.  There  were  ninety-six  negroes,  two 
or  three  Indian  women  with  their  children,  and  twenty-eight 
Christian  servants,  of  whom  we  were  three. 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  were  marched  back  to  dinner.  At  one 
we  went  out  again,  the  sun  being  at  this  time  of  the  day  very 
fierce,  though  January  is  the  coldest  month  in  the  year.  We 
worked  till  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  we  returned. 

*'  This,"  said  Robin,  with  a  groan,  "  is  what  we  have  now  to 
do  every  day  for  ten  years." 

"  Heart  up,  lad,"  said  Barnaby.  "  Our  time  will  come.  Give 
me  time  to  turn  round,  as  a  body  may  say.  Why,  the  harbor  is 
full  of  boats.  Let  me  get  to  the  port  and  look  round  a  bit.  If 
we  had  any  money  now,  but  that  is  past  praying  for.  Courage 
and  patience.  Doctor,  you  hoe  too  fast.  No  one  looks  for  zeal. 
Follow  the  example  of  the  black  fellows  who  think  all  day  long 
how  they  shall  get  off  with  as  little  work  as  possible.  As  for 
their  lash,  I  doubt  whether  they  dare  to  lay  it  about  us,  though 
they  may  talk.  Because  you  see,  even  if  we  do  not  escape,  we 
shall  some  time  or  other,  through  the  rector's  efforts,  get  a  par- 
don, and  then  we  are  gentlemen  again,  and  when  that  moment 
arrives  I  Avill  make  this  master  of  ours  fight,  willy-nilly,  and  I 
will  kill  him,  d'ye  see,  before  I  go  home  to  kill  Benjamin." 

He  then  went  on  to  discourse,  either  with  the  hope  of  raising 
our  spirits,  or  because  it  cheered  his  mind  just  to  set  them  forth, 
upon  his  plans  for  the  means  of  escape. 

"  A  boat,"  he  said,  "  I  can  seize.  There  are  many  which  would 
serve  our  purpose.  But  a  boat  without  victuals  would  be  of  lit- 
tle use.    One  would  not  be  accused  of  stealing,  yet  we  may  have 


312  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

to  break  into  the  store  and  take  therefrom  some  beef  or  biscuit. 
But  where  to  store  our  victuals  ?  We  may  have  a  voyage  of 
three  or  four  hundred  knots  before  us.  That  is  nothing  for  a 
tight  little  boat  when  the  hurricane  season  is  over.  We  have 
no  compass  either,  I  must  lay  hands  upon  a  compass.  The  first 
Saturday  night  I  will  make  for  the  port  and  cast  about.  Lift 
up  your  head,  Robin.  Why,  man,  all  bad  times  pass  if  only  one 
hath  patience." 

It  was  this  very  working  in  the  field  by  which  the  master 
thought  to  drive  us  into  despair  which  caused  in  the  long  run 
our  deliverance,  and  that  in  the  most  unexpected  manner. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

ON     CONDITIONS. 


This  servitude  endured  for  a  week,  during  which  we  were 
driven  forth  daily  with  the  negroes  to  the  hardest  and  most  in- 
tolerable toil,  the  master's  intention  being  so  to  disgust  us  with 
the  life  as  to  make  us  write  the  most  urgent  letters  to  our  friends 
at  home.  Since,  as  we  told  him,  two  hundred  guineas  had  been 
already  paid  on  our  account — though  none  of  the  money  was 
used  for  the  purpose — he  supposed  that  another  two  hundred 
could  easily  be  raised.  AVherefore,  while  those  of  the  new  ser- 
vants who  were  common  country  lads  were  placed  in  the  in- 
genio,  or  the  curing-house,  where  the  work  is  sheltered  from 
the  scorching  sun,  we  were  made  to  endure  every  hardship  that 
the  place  permitted.  In  the  event,  however,  the  man's  greed 
was  disappointed,  and  his  cruelty  made  of  none  avail. 

In  fact,  the  thing  I  had  foreseen  quickly  came  to  pass.  When 
a  man  lies  in  a  lethargy  of  despair  his  body,  no  longer  fortified 
by  a  cheerful  mind,  presently  falls  into  any  disease  which  is  lurk- 
ing in  the  air.  Diseases  of  all  kinds  may  be  likened  unto  wild 
beasts — invisible,  always  on  the  prowl,  seeking  whom  they  may 
devour.  The  young  fall  victims  to  some,  the  weak  to  others ; 
the  drunkards  and  gluttons  to  others ;  the  old  to  others ;  and 
the  lethargic  again  to  others.  It  was  not  surprising  to  me,  there- 
fore, when  Robin,  coming  home  one  evening,  fell  to  shivering 
and  shaking,  chattering  with  his  teeth,  and  showing  every  ex- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  313 

ternal  sign  of  cold,  thougli  the  evening  was  still  warm  and  the 
sun  had  that  day  been  more  than  commonly  hot.  Also,  he 
turned  away  from  his  food  and  would  eat  nothing.  Therefore, 
as  there  was  nothing  we  could  give  him,  we  covered  him  with 
our  rugs,  and  he  presently  fell  asleep.  But  in  the  morning 
when  we  awoke,  behold  !  Robin  was  in  a  high  fever,  his  hands 
and  head  burning  hot,  his  cheek  flushed  red,  his  eyes  rolling, 
and  his  brain  wandering.  I  went  forth  and  called  the  overseer 
to  come  and  look  at  him.  At  first  he  cursed  and  swore,  saying 
that  the  man  was  malingering — that  is  to  say,  pretending  to  be 
sick  in  order  to  avoid  work — that,  if  he  were  a  negro  instead  of 
a  gentleman,  a  few  cuts  with  his  lash  should  shortly  bring  him 
to  his  senses  ;  that,  for  his  part,  he  liked  not  this  mixing  of  gen- 
tlemen with  negroes ;  and  that,  finally,  I  must  go  and  bring 
forth  my  sick  man  or  take  it  upon  myself  to  face  the  master, 
who  would  probably  drive  him  afield  with  the  stick. 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  "  what  the  master  may  do,  I  know  not.  Mur- 
der may  be  done  by  any  who  are  wicked  enough.  For  my  part, 
I  am  a  physician,  and  I  tell  you  that  to  make  this  man  go  forth 
to  work  will  be  murder.  But,  indeed,  he  is  lightheaded,  and 
with  a  thousand  lashes  you  could  not  make  him  understand  or 
obey." 

Well,  he  grumbled,  but  he  followed  me  into  the  hut. 

"  The  man  hath  had  a  sunstroke,"  he  said.  "  I  wonder  that 
any  of  you  have  escaped.  Well,  we  can  carry  him  to  the  sick- 
house,  where  he  will  die.  When  a  new  hand  is  taken  this  way, 
he  always  dies." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  not  die,"  I  said,  "  if  he  is  properly  treated. 
If  he  is  given  nothing  but  this  diet  of  lobloUie  and  salt  beef, 
and  nothing  to  drink  but  the  foul  Avater  of  the  pond,  and  no 
other  doctor  than  an  ignorant  old  negress,  he  will  surely  die." 

"  Good  Lord,  man !"  said  the  fellow,  "  what  do  you  expect  in 
this  country  ?  It  is  the  master's  loss,  not  mine.  Carry  him  be- 
tween you  to  the  sick-house." 

So  we  carried  Robin  to  the  sick-house. 

At  home  we  should  account  it  a  barn  ;  being  a  great  place 
with  a  thatched  roof,  the  windows  open,  without  shutter  or  lat- 
tice, the  door  breaking  away  from  its  hinges.  Within  there 
was  a  black,  lying  on  a  pallet,  groaning  most  piteously.  The 
poor  wretch,  for  something  that  he  had  done,  I  know  not  what, 
14 


314  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

had  liis  flesli  cut  to  pieces  with  the  whip.    With  him  was  an  old 
negress,  mumbling  and  mouthing. 

We  laid  Robin  on  another  pallet,  and  covered  him  with  a  rug. 

"  Now,  man,"  said  the  overseer,  "  leave  him  there,  and  come 
forth  to  your  work." 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "  he  must  not  be  left.  I  am  a  physician,  and 
I  must  stay  beside  him." 

"  If  he  were  your  son  I  could  not  suffer  you  to  stay  with 
him." 

"  Man,"  I  cried,  "  hast  thou  no  pity  ?" 

"  Pity  !" — the  fellow  grinned — "  pity  !  quotha,  pity  !  Is  this 
a  place  for  pity  ?  Why,  if  I  showed  any  pity  I  should  be  work- 
ing beside  you  in  the  fields.  It  is  because  I  have  no  pity  that  I 
am  an  overseer.  Look  here  !"  (He  showed  me  his  left  hand, 
which  had  been  branded  with  a  red-hot  iron.)  "  This  was  done 
in  Newgate,  seven  years  ago  and  more.  Three  years  more  I 
have  to  serve.  That  done,  I  may  begin  to  show  some  pity,  not 
before.  Pity  is  scarce  among  the  drivers  of  Barbadoes.  As  well 
ask  the  beadle  for  pity  when  he  flogs  a  'prentice." 

"  Let  me  go  to  the  master,  then  ?" 

"  Best  not — best  not.  Let  this  man  die,  and  keep  yourself 
alive.  The  morning  is  the  worst  time  for  him,  because  last 
night's  drink  is  still  in  his  head.  Likely  as  not  you  will  only 
make  the  sick  man's  case,  and  your  own,  worse.  Leave  him  in 
the  sick-house,  and  go  back  to  him  in  the  evening." 

The  man  spoke  with  some  compassion  in  his  eyes.  Just  then, 
however,  a  negro  boy  came  running  from  the  house,  and  spoke 
to  the  overseer. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  nothing  could  be  more  pat.  You  can 
speak  to  the  master  if  you  please.  He  is  in  pain,  and  madam 
sends  for  Dr.  Humphrey  Challis.  Go,  doctor.  If  you  cure  him, 
you  will  be  a  lucky  man.  If  you  cannot  cure  him,  the  Lord  have 
mercy  upon  you  !  Whereas,  if  you  suffer  him  to  die,"  he  added, 
with  a  grin  and  a  whisper,  "  every  man  on  the  estate  will  fall 
down  and  worship  you.     Let  him  die — let  him  die." 

I  followed  the  boy,  who  took  me  to  that  part  of  the  house 
which  fronts  the  west  and  north.  It  Avas  a  mean  house  of  wood, 
low  and  small,  considering  how  wealthy  a  man  was  the  master 
of  it ;  on  three  sides,  however,  there  was  built  out  a  kind  of 
loggia,  as  the  Italians  call  it,  of  wood  instead  of  marble,  forming 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  315 

a  cloister,  or  open  chamber,  outside  the  house.  They  call  it  a 
veranda,  and  part  of  it  they  hang  with  mats,  made  of  grass,  so 
as  to  keep  it  shaded  in  the  afternoon  and  evening,  when  the  sun 
is  in  the  west.  The  hoy  brought  me  to  this  place,  pointed  to  a 
chair  where  the  master  sat,  and  then  ran  away  as  quickly  as  he 
could. 

It  was  easy  to  understand  why  he  ran  away.  Because  the 
master,  at  this  moment,  sprang  out  of  his  chair,  and  began  to 
stamp  up  and  down  the  veranda,  roaring  and  cursing.  He  was 
clad  in  a  white  linen  dressing-gown  and  linen  nightcap.  On  a 
small  table  beside  him  stood  a  bottle  of  beer,  newly  opened,  and 
a  silver  tankard. 

AVhen  he  saw  me,  he  began  to  swear  at  me  for  my  delay  in 
coming,  though  I  had  not  lost  a  moment. 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  "  if  you  will  cease  railing  and  blasphe"ming,  I 
will  examine  into  your  malady.  Otherwise,  I  will  do  nothing 
for  you." 

"  What !"  he  cried,  "  you  dare  to  make  conditions  with  me, 
you  dog,  you  !" 

"  Fair  words,"  I  said,  "  fair  words.  I  am  your  servant,  to 
work  on  your  plantation  as  you  may  command.  I  am  not  your 
physician ;  and  I  promise  you,  sir,  upon  the  honor  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  without  using  the  sacred  name  which  is  so  often  on 
your  lips,  that  if  you  continue  to  rail  at  me,  I  will  suffer  you  to 
die  rather  than  stir  a  little  finger  in  your  help." 

"  Suffer  the  physician  to  examine  the  place,"  said  a  woman's 
voice.     "  What  good  is  it  to  curse  and  to  swear  ?" 

The  voice  came  from  a  hammock  swinging  at  the  end  of  the 
veranda.  It  was  made,  I  observed,  of  a  kind  of  coarse  grass 
loosely  woven. 

The  man  sat  down,  and  sulkily  bade  me  find  a  remedy  for  the 
pain  which  he  was  enduring.  So  I  consented ;  and  examined 
his  upper  jaw,  where  I  soon  found  out  the  cause  of  his  pain  in 
a  good-sized  tumor,  formed  over  the  fangs  of  a  grinder.  Such 
a  thing  causes  agony  even  to  a  person  of  cool  blood,  but  to  a 
man  whose  veins  are  inflamed  with  strong  drink  the  pain  of  it 
is  maddening. 

"  You  have  got  a  tumor,"  I  told  him.  "  It  has  been  forming 
for  some  days.  It  has  now  nearly,  or  quite,  reached  its  head. 
It  began  about  the  time  when  you  were  cursing  and  insulting 


316  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

certain  unfortunate  gentlemen  who  are  for  the  time  under  your 
power.  Take  it,  therefore,  as  a  divine  judgment  upon  you  for 
your  cruelty  and  insolence." 

He  glared  at  me,  but  said  nothing,  the  hope  of  relief  causing 
him  to  receive  this  admonition  with  patience  if  not  in  good  part. 
Besides,  my  finger  was  still  upon  the  spot,  and  if  I  so  much  as 
pressed  gently  I  could  cause  him  agony  unspeakable.  Truly, 
the  power  of  the  physician  is  great. 

"  The  pain,"  I  told  him,  "  is  already  grown  almost  intolerable. 
But  it  will  be  much  greater  in  a  few  hours  unless  something  is 
done.  It  is  now  like  unto  a  little  ball  of  red-hot  fire  in  your 
jaw ;  in  an  hour  or  two  it  will  seem  as  if  the  whole  of  your  face 
was  a  burning  fiery  furnace ;  your  cheek  will  swell  out  until 
your  left  eye  is  closed;  your  tortures,  which  now  make  you 
bawl,  will  then  make  you  scream;  you  now  walk  about  and 
stamp ;  you  will  then  lie  down  on  your  back  and  kick.  No 
negro  slave  ever  suffered  half  so  much  under  your  accursed  lash 
as  you  will  suffer  under  this  tumor — unless  something  is  done." 
"Doctor" — it  was  again  the  woman's  voice  from  the  ham- 
mock— "  you  have  frightened  him  enough." 

"  Strong  drink,"  I  went  on,  pointing  to  the  tankard,  "  will  only 
make  you  worse.  It  inflames  your  blood  and  adds  fuel  to  the 
raging  fire.  Unless  something  is  done,  the  pain  will  be  followed 
by  delirium,  that  by  fever,  and  the  fever  by  death.  Sir,  are  you 
prepared  for  death  ?" 

He  turned  horribly  pale,  and  gasped. 

"  Do  something  for  me,"  he  said.  "  Do  something  for  me, 
and  that  without  more  words." 

"  Nay,  but  I  will  first  make  a  bargain  with  you.  There  is  in 
the  sick-house  a  gentleman,  my  cousin,  Robin  Challis  by  name, 
one  of  the  newly  arrived  rebels,  and  your  servant.  He  is  lying 
sick  unto  death  of  a  sunstroke  and  fever,  caused  by  your  hellish 
cruelty  in  sending  him  out  to  work  in  the  fields  with  the  negroes, 
instead  of  putting  him  to  light  labor  in  the  ingen,io  or  elsewhere. 
I  say,  his  sickness  is  caused  by  your  barbarity.  Wherefore,  I 
will  do  nothing  for  you  at  all — do  you  hear? — nothing — noth- 
ing— unless  I  am  set  free  to  do  all  I  can  for  him.  Yea,  and  I 
must  have  such  cordials  and  generous  diet  as  the  place  can 
afford,  otherwise  I  will  not  stir  a  finger  to  help  you.  Otherwise 
endure  the  torments  of  the  damned ;  rave  in  madness  and  in 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  317 

fever.  Die,  and  go  to  your  own  place.  I  will  not  help  you. 
So.     That  is  my  last  word." 

Upon  tliis  I  really  thought  that  the  man  had  gone  stark  star- 
ing mad.  For,  at  the  impudence  of  a  mere  servant,  though  a 
gentleman  of  far  better  family  than  his  own,  daring  to  make 
conditions  with  him,  he  became  purple  in  the  cheeks,  and,  seiz- 
ing his  great  stick,  which  lay  on  the  table,  be  began  belaboring 
me  with  all  his  might  about  the  head  and  shoulders.  But  1 
caught  up  a  chair  and  used  it  for  a  shield,  while  he  capered 
about,  striking  wildly  and  swearing  most  horribly. 

At  this  moment  the  lady  who  was  in  the  hammock  stepped 
out  of  it  and  walked  towards  us  slowly,  like  a  queen.  She  was 
without  any  doubt  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  had  ever  seen. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  kind  of  dressing-gown  of  flowered  silk, 
which  covered  her  from  head  to  foot;  her  head  was  adorned 
with  tlie  most  lovely  glossy -black  ringlets ;  a  heavy  gold  chain 
lay  round  her  neck,  and  a  chain  of  gold  with  pearls  was  twined 
in  her  hair  so  that  it  looked  like  a  coronet ;  her  fingers  were  cov- 
ered with  rings,  and  gold  bracelets  hung  upon  her  bare  white 
arms.  Her  figure  was  tall  and  full ;  her  face  inclined  to  the 
Spanish,  being  full  and  yet  regular,  with  large  black  eyes. 
Though  I  was  fighting  with  a  madman,  I  could  not  resist  the 
wish  that  I  could  paint  her.  And  I  plainly  perceived  that  she 
was  one  of  that  race  which  is  called  quadroon,  being  most  likely 
the  daughter  of  a  mulatto  woman  and  a  white  father.  This  was 
evident  by  the  character  of  her  skin,  which  had  in  it  what  the 
Italians  call  the  morbidezza^  and  by  a  certain  dark  hue  under  the 
eyes. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  speaking  to  the  master  as  if  he  had  been 
a  petulant  schoolboy,  "  you  only  make  yourself  worse  by  all  this 
fury.  Sit  down  and  lay  aside  your  stick.  And  you,  sir,"  she 
addressed  herself  to  me,  "  you  may  be  a  great  physician  and 
at  home  a  gentleman  ;  but  here  you  are  a  servant,  and,  therefore, 
bound  to  help  your  master  in  all  you  can  without  first  making 
conditions." 

"  I  know  too  well,"  I  replied.  "  He  bought  me  as  his  ser- 
vant, but  not  as  his  physician.  I  will  not  heal  him  without 
my  fee.  And  my  fee  is  that  my  sick  cousin  be  attended  to  with 
humanity." 

"  Take  him  away !"  cried  the  master,  beside  himself  with  rage. 


318  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Clap  him  in  tlie  stocks.  Let  him  sit  there  all  day  long  in  the 
sun.  lie  shall  have  nothing  to  eat  or  to  drink.  In  the  even- 
ing he  shall  be  flogged.  If  it  were  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  him- 
self he  should  be  tied  up  and  flogged.  Where  the  devil  are  the 
servants  ?" 

A  great  hulking  negro  came  running. 

"  You  have  now,"  I  told  him  quietly,  "  permitted  yourself  to 
be  inflamed  with  violent  rage.  The  pain  will  therefore  more 
rapidly  increase ;  when  it  becomes  intolerable  you  will  be  glad 
to  send  for  me." 

The  negro  dragged  me  away  (but  I  made  no  resistance),  and 
led  me  to  the  courtyard  where  stood  the  stocks  and  a  whipping- 
post. He  pointed  to  the  latter  with  a  horrid  grin,  and  then  laid 
me  fast  in  the  former.  Fortunately  he  left  me  my  hat,  other- 
wise the  hot  sun  would  have  made  an  end  of  me.  I  was,  how- 
ever, quite  easy  in  my  mind.  I  knew  that  this  poor  wretch,  who 
already  suffered  so  horribly,  would  before  long  feel  in  that  jaw 
of  his,  as  it  were,  a  ball  of  fire ;  he  would  drink  in  order  to 
deaden  the  pain,  but  the  wine  would  only  make  the  agony  more 
horrible.     Then  he  would  be  forced  to  send  for  me. 

This,  in  fact,  was  exactly  what  he  did. 

I  sat  in  those  abominable  stocks  for  no  more  than  an  hour. 
Then  madam  herself  came  to  me  followed  by  the  negro  fellow 
who  had  locked  my  heels  in  those  two  holes. 

"He  is  now  much  worse,"  she  said.  "He  is  now  in  pain 
that  cannot  be  endured.     Canst  thou  truly  relieve  his  sufferings  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  can.  But  on  conditions.  My  cousin  will  die  if 
he  is  neglected.  Suffer  me  to  minister  to  his  needs.  Give  me 
what  I  want  for  him  and  I  will  cure  your — "  I  did  not  know 
whether  I  might  say  "  your  husband  " — so  I  changed  the  words 
into  "  my  master.  After  that  I  will  cheerfully  endure  again  his 
accursed  cruelty  of  the  fields." 

She  bade  the  negro  unlock  the  bar. 

"  Come,"  she  said.  "  Let  us  hear  no  more  about  any  bar- 
gains. I  will  see  to  it  that  you  are  able  to  attend  to  your  cous- 
in. Nay,  there  is  an  unfortunate  young  gentlewoman  here,  a 
rebel,  and  a  servant  like  yourself ;  for  the  last  week  she  doth 
nothing  but  weep  for  the  misfortunes  of  her  friends ;  meaning 
you  and  your  company.  I  will  ask  her  to  nurse  the  sick  man. 
She  will  desire  nothing  better,  being  a  most  tender-hearted 


'  /  sat  in  those  abominable  stocks  for  no  more  than  an  hour.     Then 
madam  herself  came  to  me.  .  .  She  bade  the  negro  unlock  the  bar," 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  319 

woman.  And  as  for  yon,  it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  look  after 
your  cousin  and  your  master  at  the  same  time." 

"Then,  madam,"  I  replied,  "take  me  to  him,  and  I  will 
speedily  do  all  I  can  to  relieve  him." 

I  found  my  patient  in  a  condition  of  mind  and  body  most 
dangerous.  I  wondered  that  he  had  not  already  fallen  into  a 
fit,  so  great  was  his  wrath  and  so  dreadful  his  pain.  He  rolled 
his  eyes,  his  cheeks  were  purple,  he  clenched  his  fists,  he 
would  have  gnashed  his  teeth  but  for  the  pain  in  his  jaws. 

"  Make  yourself  easy,"  said  madam.  "  This  learned  physi- 
cian will  cause  your  pain  to  cease.  I  have  talked  with  him,  and 
put  him  into  a  better  mind." 

The  master  shook  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say  that  a  better 
mind  would  hardly  be  arrived  at  without  the  assistance  of  the 
whipping-post.  But  the  emergency  of  the  case  prevented  that 
indulgence.  Briefly,  therefore,  I  took  out  my  lancet  and  jiierced 
the  place,  which  instantly  relieved  the  pain.  Then  I  placed  him 
in  bed,  bled  him  copiously,  and  forbade  his  taking  anything 
stronger  than  small  beer.  Freedom  from  pain  and  exhaustion 
presently  caused  him  to  fall  into  a  deep  and  tranquil  sleep.  Af- 
ter all  this  was  done,  I  was  anxious  to  see  Robin. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  I  have  now  done  all  I  can.  He  will  awake 
at  noon,  I  dare  say.  Give  him  a  little  broth,  but  not  much. 
There  is  danger  of  fever.  You  had  better  call  me  again  when 
he  awakes.  Warn  him,  solemnly,  that  rage,  revenge,  cursing 
and  beating  must  be  all  postponed  until  such  time  as  he  is 
stronger.  I  go  to  visit  my  cousin  in  the  sick-house,  where  I 
await  your  commands." 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  courteously,  "  I  cannot  sufiiciently  thank  your 
skill  and  zeal.  You  will  find  the  nurse  of  whom  I  spoke  in  the 
sick-room  with  your  cousin.  She  took  with  her  some  cordial, 
and  will  tell  me  what  else  you  order  for  your  patient.  I  hope 
your  cousin  may  recover.  But  indeed — "  she  stopped  and 
sighed. 

"  You  would  say,  madam,  that  it  would  be  better  for  him, 
and  for  all  of  us,  to  die  ;  perhaps  so.  But  we  must  not  choose 
to  die,  but  rather  strive  to  live,  as  more  in  accordance  with  the 
Word  of  God." 

"  The  white  servants  have  been  hitherto  the  common  rogues 
and  thieves,  and  sweepings  of  your  English  streets,"  she  said. 


320  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Sturdy  rogues  arc  they  all,  wlio  fear  nauglit  but  the  lash,  and 
have  nothing  of  tenderness  left  but  tender  skins.  They  rob 
and  steal ;  they  will  not  work,  save  by  compulsion  ;  they  are 
far  worse  than  the  negroes  for  laziness  and  drunkenness.  I 
know  not  why  they  are  sent  out,  or  why  the  planters  buy  them, 
when  the  blacks  do  so  much  better  serve  their  turn,  and  they 
can  without  reproach  beat  and  flog  the  negroes,  while  to  flog 
and  beat  the  whites  is  by  some  accounted  cruel." 

"  All  this,  madam,  is  doubtless  true,  but  my  friends  are  not 
the  sweeping  of  the  street." 

"  No,  but  you  are  treated  as  if  you  were.  It  is  a  new  thing 
having  gentlemen  among  the  servants,  and  the  planters  are  not 
yet  accustomed  to  them.  They  are  a  masterful  and  a  wilful 
folk,  the  planters  of  Barbadoes ;  from  childhood  upward  they 
have  their  own  way,  and  brook  not  opposition.  You  have  seen 
into  what  a  madness  of  wrath  yon  threw  the  master  by  your 
op230sition.  Believe  me,  sir,  the  place  is  not  wholesome  for 
you  and  for  your  friends.  The  master  looks  to  get  a  profit,  not 
from  your  labor,  but  by  your  ransom.  Sir,"  she  looked  me  very 
earnestly  in  the  face,  "  if  you  have  friends  at  home,  if  you 
have  any  friends  at  all,  entreat  them,  command  them,  immedi- 
ately to  send  money  for  your  ransom.  It  will  not  cost  them 
much.  If  you  do  not  get  the  money  you  will  most  assuredly 
die,  with  the  life  that  you  will  have  to  live.  All  the  white  ser- 
vants die  except  the  very  strongest  and  lustiest,  whether  they 
work  in  the  fields  or  in  the  garden,  or  in  the  ingenio,  or  in  the 
stables — they  die.  They  cannot  endure  the  hot  sun  and  the 
hard  fare.  They  presently  catch  fever,  or  a  calenture,  or  a 
cramp,  and  so  they  die.  This  young  gentlewoman  who  is  now 
with  your  cousin  will  presently  fall  into  melancholy  and  die. 
There  is  no  help  for  her,  or  for  you— believe  me,  sir — there  is 
no  hope  but  to  get  your  freedom."  She  broke  off  here,  and 
never  at  any  other  time  spoke  to  me  again  upon  this  subject. 

In  three  weeks'  time,  indeed,  we  were  to  regain  our  freedom, 
but  not  in  the  way  madam  imagined. 

Before  I  go  on  to  tell  of  the  wonderful  surprise  which  awaited 
me,  I  must  say  that  there  was,  after  this  day,  no  more  any  ques- 
tion about  field  work  for  me.  In  this  island  there  was  then  a 
great  scarcity  of  physicians  —  nay,  there  Avere  none  properly 
qualified  to  call  themselves  physicians,  though  a  few  quacks ; 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  321 

the  sick  servants  on  the  estates  were  attended  by  the  negresses, 
some  of  whom  Lave,  I  confess,  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  herbs, 
in  which  respect  they  may  be  likened  to  our  countrywomen, 
who,  for  fevers,  agues,  toothache,  and  the  like,  are  as  good  as 
any  physicians  in  the  world.  It  was  therefore  speedily  rumored 
abroad  that  there  was  a  physician  upon  my  master's  estate, 
whereupon  there  was  immediately  a  great  demand  for  his  ser- 
vices ;  and  henceforth  I  went  daily,  with  the  master's  consent, 
to  visit  the  sick  people  on  the  neighboring  estates ;  nay,  I  was 
even  called  upon  by  his  excellency  the  lieutenant-governor  him- 
self, Mr.  Steed,  for  a  complaint  from  which  he  suffered.  And  I 
not  only  gave  advice  and  medicines,  but  I  also  received  a  fee, 
just  as  if  I  had  been  practising  in  London.  But  the  fees  went 
to  my  master,  who  took  them  all,  and  offered  me  no  better  diet 
than  before.  That,  however,  mattered  little,  because  wherever 
I  went  I  asked  for  and  always  received  food  of  a  more  generous 
kind,  and  a  glass  or  two  of  wine,  so  that  I  fared  well  and  kept 
my  health  during  the  short  time  that  we  remained  upon  the 
island.  I  had  also  to  thank  madam  for  many  a  glass  of  Ma- 
deira, dish  of  cocoa,  plate  of  fruit,  and  other  things,  not  only 
for  my  patient  Robin,  but  also  for  myself,  and  for  another,  of 
whom  I  have  now  to  speak. 

AVhen,  therefore,  the  master  was  at  length  free  from  pain, 
and  in  a  comfortable  sleep,  I  left  him,  with  madam's  permission, 
and  sought  the  sick-house  in  a  most  melancholy  mood,  because 
I  believed  that  Robin  would  surely  die  whatever  I  should  do. 
And  I  confess  that,  having  had  but  little  experience  of  sunstroke, 
and  the  kind  of  fever  which  followeth  upon  it,  and  having  no 
books  to  consult,  and  no  medicine  at  hand,  I  knew  not  what  I 
could  do  for  him.  And  the  boasted  skill  of  the  physician,  one 
must  confess,  availeth  little  against  a  disease  which  hath  once 
laid  hold  upon  a  man.  'Tis  better  for  him  so  to  order  the  lives 
of  his  patients  while  they  are  well  as  to  prevent  disease,  just  as 
those  who  dwell  beside  an  unruly  river,  as  I  have  seen  upon  the 
great  river  Rhone,  build  up  a  high  levee,  or  bank,  which  it  can- 
not pass. 

In  the  sick  -  house,  the  floor  was  of  earth  without  boards ; 

there  was  no  other  furniture  but  two  or  three  wooden  pallets ; 

on  each  a  coarse  mattress  with  a  rug ;  and  all  was  horribly  filthy, 

unwashed,  and  foul.     Beside  the  pallet  where  Robin  lay  there 

14^  X 


322  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

knelt,  praying,  a  woman  with  her  head  in  her  hands.  Heavens ! 
There  was  then  in  this  dark  and  heathenish  place  one  woman 
who  still  remembered  her  Maker. 

Robin  was  awake.  His  restless  eyes  rolled  about,  his  hands 
clutched  uneasily  at  his  blanket,  and  he  was  talking.  Alas ! 
the  poor  brain,  disordered  and  wandering,  carried  him  back  to 
the  old  village.  He  was  at  home  again  in  imagination,  though 
we  were  so  far  away.  Yea,  he  had  crossed  the  broad  Atlantic, 
and  was  in  fair  Somerset  among  the  orchards  and  the  hills. 
And  only  to  hear  him  talk  the  tears  rolled  down  my  cheeks. 

"  Grace,"  he  said.  Alas  !  he  thought  that  he  was  again  with 
the  sweet  companion  of  his  youth.  "  Grace,  the  nuts  are  ripe  in 
the  woods.  We  will  to-morrow  take  a  basket  and  go  gather 
them.  Benjamin  shall  not  come  to  spoil  sport;  besides,  he 
would  want  to  eat  them  all  himself.  Humphrey  shall  come, 
and  you,  and  I.     That  will  be  enough." 

Then  his  thoughts  changed  again.  "  Oh,  my  dear,"  he  said — 
in  a  moment  he  had  passed  over  ten  years,  and  was  now  with 
his  mistress,  a  child  no  longer —  "  My  dear,  thou  hast  so  sweet 
a  face.  Nowhere  in  the  whole  world  is  there  so  sweet  a  face. 
I  have  always  loved  thy  face ;  not  a  day  but  it  has  been  in  my 
mind.  Always  my  love,  my  sweetheart,  my  soul,  my  life.  My 
dear,  we  will  never  leave  the  country ;  we  want  no  grandeur  of 
rank  and  state  and  town ;  we  will  always  continue  here.  Old 
age  shall  find  us  lovers  still.  Death  cannot  part  us ;  oh,  my 
dear ;  save  for  a  little  while,  and  then  sweet  Heaven  will  unite 
us  again  to  love  each  other  forever  and  forever — " 

"Oh,  Robin  !  Robin  !  Robin  !'•' 

I  knew  that  voice.  Oh,  heavens  !  Was  I  dreaming  ?  Was  I 
too,  wandering  ?     Were  we  all  back  in  Somerset  ? 

For  the  voice  was  none  other  than  the  voice  of  Grace  herself. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

GRACE. 

"  Grace  !"  I  cried. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  and  turned  to  meet  me.     Her  face 
was  pale  ;  her  eyes  were  heavy,  and  they  were  full  of  tears. 
"  Grace !" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  323 

"  I  saw  you  wlien  you  came  here,  a  week  ago,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
Humphrey,  I  saw  you,  and  1  was  ashamed  to  let  you  know  that 
I  was  here." 

"  Ashamed  ?  My  dear,  ashamed  ?  But  how  —  why  —  what 
dost  thou  here  ?" 

"  How  could  I  meet  Robin's  eyes  after  what  I  had  done  ?" 

"  It  was  done  for  him,  and  for  his  mother,  and  for  all  of  us. 
Poor  child,  there  is  no  reason  to  be  ashamed." 

"  And  now  I  meet  him  and  he  is  in  a  fever  and  his  mind  wan- 
ders.    He  knows  me  not." 

"  He  is  sorely  stricken,  Grace.  I  know  not  how  the  disease 
may  end — mind  and  body  are  sick  alike.  For  the  mind  I  can 
do  nothing,  for  the  body  I  can  do  little ;  yet,  with  cleanliness 
and  good  food  we  may  help  him  to  mend.  But  tell  me,  child, 
in  the  name  of  Heaven,  how  cameSt  thou  in  this  place  ?" 

But  before  anything  she  would  attend  to  the  sick  man.  And 
presently  she  brought  half  a  dozen  negresses,  who  cleaned  and 
swept  the  place,  and  sheets  were  fetched,  and  a  linen  shirt, 
in  which  we  dressed  our  patient,  with  such  other  things  as  we 
could  devise  for  his  comfort.  Then  I  bathed  his  head  with 
cold  water,  continually  changing  his  bandages,  so  as  to  keep 
him  cool ;  and  I  took  some  blood  from  him,  but  not  much,  be- 
cause he  was  greatly  reduced  by  bad  food  and  hard  work. 

When  he  was  a  little  easier  we  talked.  But,  heavens !  to 
think  of  the  villainy  which  had  worked  its  will  upon  this  poor 
child  !  As  if  it  were  not  enough  that  she  should  be  forced  to  fly 
from  a  man  who  had  so  strangely  betrayed  her  !  And  as  if  it 
were  not  enough  that  she  should  be  robbed  of  all  her  money,  but 
she  must  also  be  put  on  board  falsely  and  treacherously,  as  one, 
like  ourselves,  sentenced  to  ten  years'  servitude  in  the  planta- 
tions !  For,  indeed,  I  knew  and  was  quite  certain  that  none  of 
the  maids  of  Taunton  were  thus  sent  abroad.  It  was  notorious, 
before  we  were  sent  away,  that,  with  the  exception  of  Susan 
Blake,  who  died  of  jail  fever  at  Dorchester,  all  the  maids  were 
given  to  the  queen's  ladies,  and  by  them  suffered  to  go  free  on 
the  payment  by  their  parents  of  thirty  or  forty  pounds  apiece. 
And  as  for  Grace,  she  was  a  stranger  in  the  place,  and  it  was 
not  known  that  she  had  joined  that  unfortunate  procession.  So 
that  if  ever  a  man  was  kidnapper  and  villain,  that  man  was 
George  Penne. 


324  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

It  bcliooves  a  physician  to  keep  bis  mind,  under  all  circum- 
stances, calm  and  composed.  He  must  not  suffer  himself  to  be 
carried  away  by  passion,  by  rage,  hatred,  or  even  anxiety  ;  yet 
I  confess  that  my  mind  was  clean  distracted  by  the  discovery 
that  Grace  herself  was  with  us,  a  prisoner  like  ourselves.  I  was, 
I  say,  distracted,  nor  could  I  tell  what  to  think  of  this  event 
and  its  consequences.  For,  to  begin  with,  the  poor  child  was 
near  those  who  would  protect  her.  But  what  kind  of  protection 
could  be  given  by  such  helpless  slaves  ?  Then  was  she  beyond 
her  husband's  reach ;  he  would  not,  it  was  quite  certain,  get 
possession  of  her  at  this  vast  distance.  So  far  she  was  safe. 
But  then  the  master  who  looked  to  make  a  profit  by  her,  as  he 
looked  to  make  a  profit  by  us  —  through  the  ransom  of  her 
friends !  She  had  no  friends  to  ransom  her.  There  was  but 
one — the  rector — and  he  was  her  husband's  father.  The  time 
would  come  when  the  avarice  of  the  master  would  make  him  do 
or  threaten  something  barbarous  towards  her.  Then  she  had 
found  favor  with  madam,  this  beautiful  mulatto  woman,  whom 
Grace  innocently  supposed  to  be  the  master's  wife.  And  there 
was  the  young  planter,  who  wished  to  buy  her  with  the  honora- 
able  intention  of  marrying  her.  In  short,  I  knew  not  what  to 
think  or  to  say,  because  at  one  moment  it  seemed  as  if  it  were 
the  most  providential  thing  in  the  world  that  Grace  should  have 
been  brought  here,  and  the  next  moment  it  seemed  as  if  her 
presence  only  magnified  our  evils. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  when  I  opened  my  mind  to  her,  "  seeing 
that  the  world  is  so  large,  what  but  a  special  ruling  of  Provi- 
dence could  have  brought  us  all  to  this  same  island,  out  of  the 
whole  multitude  of  isles,  and  then  again  to  this  same  estate,  out 
of  so  many  ?  Humphrey,  your  faith  was  wont  to  be  stronger.  I 
believe  —  nay,  I  am  quite  sure  —  that  it  was  for  the  strengthen- 
ing and  help  of  all  alike  that  this  hath  been  ordained.  First, 
it  enables  me  to  nurse  my  poor  Robin  ;  mine,  alas !  no  long- 
er. Yet  must  I  still  love  him  as  long  as  I  have  a  heart  to 
beat." 

"  Love  him  always,  child,"  I  said ;  "  this  is  no  sin  to  love  the 
companion  of  thy  childhood,  thy  sweetheart,  from  whom  thou 
wast  torn  by  the  most  wicked  treachery — "  but  could  say  no 
more,  because  the  contemplation  of  that  sweet  face,  now  so 
mournful,  yet  so  patient,  made  my  voice  to  choke  and  my  eyes 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  325 

to  fill  witli  tears.  Said  I  not  that  a  physician  must  still  keop 
his  mind  free  from  all  emotion  ? 

All  that  day  I  conversed  with  her.  We  agreed  that,  for  the 
present,  she  should  neither  acknowledge  nor  conceal  the  truth 
from  madam,  upon  whose  good-will  was  now  placed  all  our 
hopes.  That  is  to  say,  if  madam  questioned  her  she  was  to  ac- 
knowledge that  we  were  her  former  friends ;  but  if  madam  nei- 
ther suspected  anything  nor  asked  her  anything  she  should  keep 
the  matter  to  herself.  She  told  me  during  this  day  all  that  had 
happened  unto  her  since  I  saw  her  last,  when  we  marched  out 
of  Taunton.  Among  other  things,  I  heard  of  the  woman  called 
Deb,  who  w^as  now  working  in  the  corn-fields  (she  w^as  one  of  a 
company  whose  duty  it  was  to  weed  the  canes).  In  the  evening 
this  woman,  when  the  people  returned,  came  to  the  sick-house. 
She  was  a  great,  strapping  woman,  stronger  than  most  men. 
She  was  dressed,  like  all  the  women  on  the  estate,  in  a  smock 
and  petticoat,  with  a  thick  coif  to  keep  off  the  sun,  and  a  pair 
of  strong  shoes. 

She  came  to  help  her  mistress,  as  she  fondly  called  Grace. 
She  wanted  to  sit  up  and  watch  the  sick  man,  so  that  her  mis- 
tress might  go  to  sleep  ;  but  Grace  refused.  Then  this  faithful 
creature  rolled  herself  up  in  her  rug  and  laid  herself  at  the  door, 
so  that  no  one  should  go  in  or  out  without  stepping  over  her ; 
and  so  she  fell  asleep. 

Then  we  began  our  night-watch,  and  talked  in  whispers,  sit- 
ting by  the  bedside  of  the  fevered  man.  Presently  I  forgot  the 
wretchedness  of  our  condition,  the  place  where  we  were,  our 
hopeless,  helpless  lot,  our  anxieties  and  our  fears,  in  the  joy  and 
happiness  of  once  more  conversing  with  my  mistress.  She 
spoke  to  me  after  the  manner  of  the  old  days,  but  with  more 
seriousness,  about  the  marvellous  workings  of  the  Lord  among 
his  people,  and  presently  we  began  to  talk  of  the  music  which 
we  loved  to  play,  and  how  the  sweet  concord  and  harmony  of 
the  notes  lifts  up  the  soul ;  and  of  pictures  and  painting,  and 
Mr.  Boscorel's  drawings  and  my  own  poor  attempts,  and  my 
studies  in  the  schools,  and  so  forth,  as  if  my  life  were  indeed  but 
just  beginning,  and  instead  of  the  Monmouth  cap  and  the  can- 
vas breeches  and  common  shirt  I  was  once  more  arrayed  in  vel- 
vet, with  a  physician's  wig  and  a  gold-headed  cane. 

Lastly,  she  prayed,  entreating  merciful  Heaven  to  bestow 


326  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

health  of  mind  and  cnlargeinent  of  body  to  the  sick  man  upon 
the  bed,  and  her  brother,  and  her  dear  friend  (meaning  myself), 
and  to  all  poor  sufferers  for  religion.  And  she  asked  that,  as  it 
had  been  permitted  that  she  should  be  taken  from  her  earthly 
lover  by  treachery,  so  it  might  now  be  granted  to  her  to  lay 
down  her  life  for  his,  so  that  he  might  go  free  and  she  die  in 
his  place. 

Through  the  open  window  I  saw  the  four  stars  which  make 
the  constellation  they  call  the  Cruseroes,  being  like  a  cross 
fixed  in  the  heavens.  The  night  was  still,  and  there  was  no 
sound  save  the  shrill  noise  of  the  cigala,  which  is  here  as  shrill 
as  in  Padua.  Slave  and  master,  bondman  and  free,  were  all 
asleep  save  in  this  house,  where  Robin  rolled  his  heavy  head 
and  murmured  without  ceasing,  and  Grace  communed  with  her 
God.  Surely,  surely,  I  thought,  here  was  no  room  for  doubt. 
This  my  mistress  had  been  brought  here  by  the  hand  of  God 
himself  to  be  as  an  angel  or  messenger  of  his  own  for  our  help 
and  succor — haply  for  our  spiritual  help  alone,  seeing  that  no 
longer  was  there  any  help  from  man. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

BARNABY    HEARS    THE    NEWS. 


The  master,  my  patient,  got  up  from  his  bed  in  a  few  days, 
somewhat  pale  and  weak  after  his  copious  blood-letting  and  the 
drastic  medicines  with  which  I  purged  the  grossness  of  his  habit 
and  expelled  the  noxious  humors  caused  by  his  many  intemper- 
ances. These  had  greatly  injured  what  we  call  (because  we 
know  not  what  it  is  nor  what  else  to  call  it)  the  pure  volatile 
spirit,  and,  so  to  speak,  turned  sour  the  humor  radicalis,  the 
sweet  oil  and  balsamical  virtues  of  the  body.  I  gave  him  such 
counsel  as  was  fitting  for  his  case,  admonishing  him  urgently  to 
abstain  from  strong  liquors,  except  in  their  moderate  use  ;  to 
drink  only  after  his  meals,  to  keep  his  head  cool  and  sober,  and, 
above  all  things,  to  repress  and  govern  his  raging  temper,  which 
would  otherwise  most  certainly  catch  him  by  the  throat  like  some 
fierce  and  invisible  devil,  and  throw  him  into  a  fit,  and  so  kill 
him.     I  told  him,  also,  what  might  be  meant  by  the  wise  man 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  327 

(who  certainly  thought  of  all  the  bearings  which  his  words  could 
have)  when  he  said  that  one  who  is  slow  to  >vrath  is  of  great  un- 
derstanding, namely,  that  many  men  do  throw  away  their  lives 
by  falling  into  excessive  fits  of  rage.  But  I  found  that  the 
words  of  Holy  Scripture  had  little  authority  over  him,  for  he 
lived  without  prayer  or  praise,  trampled  on  the  laws  of  God, 
and  gave  no  heed  at  all  to  the  flight  of  time  and  the  coming  of 
the  next  world. 

For  a  day  or  two  he  followed  my  injunctions,  taking  a  tank- 
ard of  small  ale  to  his  breakfast,  the  same  quantity  with  his  din- 
ner, a  pint  of  Madeira  for  his  supper,  and  a  sober  glass  or  two 
before  going  to  bed.  But  when  he  grew  well  his  brother  plant- 
ers came  round  him  again,  the  drinking  was  renewed,  and  in  the 
morning  I  would  find  him  again  with  parched  throat,  tongue 
dry,  and  shaking  hand,  ready  to  belabor,  to  curse,  and  to  rail  at 
everybody.  If  one  wanted  an  example  for  the  young  how  strong 
drink  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder,  here  was 
a  case  the  sight  of  which  might  have  caused  all  young  men  to 
forswear  drunkenness.  Alas  !  there  are  plenty  of  such  examples 
to  be  seen  in  every  part  of  England,  yet  the  younger  men  still 
continue  to  drink,  and  that,  I  think,  worse  than  their  fathers. 
This  man,  however,  who  was  not  yet  five-and-thirty,  in  the  very 
prime  of  strong  and  healthy  manhood,  had  his  finger-joints  swol- 
len and  stony  from  taking  much  wine  ;  he  commonly  ate  but  lit- 
tle meat,  craving  continually  for  more  drink ;  and  his  understand- 
ing, which  was  by  nature,  I  doubt  not,  clear  and  strong,  was  now 
brutish  and  stupid.  Thinking  over  this  man,  and  of  the  power, 
even  unto  death,  which  he  possessed  over  his  servants  and  slaves, 
the  words  came  into  my  mind,  "It  is  not  for  kings,  O  Lemuel, 
it  is  not  for  kings  to  drink  wine,  nor  for  princes  strong  drink." 

Nay,  more  (and  this  I  say  knowing  that  many  godly  men  will 
not  agree  with  me),  I  am  fully  persuaded  that  there  is  no  man 
in  the  whole  world  so  good  and  so  strong  in  virtue  and  religion 
that  he  should  be  suffered  to  become  the  master  or  despot  over 
any  other  man,  even  over  a  company  of  poor  and  ignorant  blacks, 
or  a  gang  of  transported  thieves.  When  I  think  of  those  unhap- 
py people,  driven  forth  in  the  morning,  heavy-eyed  and  down- 
cast, to  the  hard  day's  work,  and  when  I  remember  how  they 
crept  home  at  night,  after  being  driven,  cursed,  and  beaten  all 
day  long,  and  when  I  think  upon  their  drivers,  overseers,  and 


328  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

masters,  and  of  their  hard  and  callous  hearts,  I  am  moved  to  cry 
aloud  (if  any  would  hear  me)  that  to  be  a  slave  is  wretched  in- 
deed, but  that  to  own  and  drive  slaves  should  be  a  thing  most 
dangerous  for  one  who  would  continue  a  member  of  Christ's 
Church. 

"When  I  told  Barnaby  the  surprising  news  that  his  sister  was 
not  only  safe,  but  was  a  servant,  like  ourselves,  upon  the  same 
estate,  I  looked  that  he  would  rejoice.  On  the  contrary,  he  fell 
into  a  strange  mood,  swearing  at  this  ill  stroke,  as  he  called  it. 
He  said  that  he  never  had  the  least  doubt  as  to  her  safety,  see- 
ing there  were  so  many  in  the  West  Country  who  knew  and  re- 
spected her  father,  and  would  willingly  shelter  her.  Then  he 
dwelt  upon  certain  evils  of  which,  I  confess,  I  had  thought  little, 
which  might  befall  her.  And,  lastly,  he  set  forth  with  great 
plainness  the  increased  dangers  in  escaping  when  one  has  to 
carry  a  woman  or  a  wounded  man — a  thing  he  pointed  out  which 
had  caused  his  own  capture  after  Sedgemoor. 

Then  he  opened  up  to  me  the  whole  business  of  our  escape. 

"  Last  Saturday  night,"  he  said,  "  while  you  were  sleeping,  I 
made  my  way  to  the  port,  and  having  a  few  shillings  left,  I 
sought  out  a  tavern.  There  is  one  hard  by  the  Bridge,  a  house 
of  call  for  sailors,  where  I  had  the  good-fortune  to  find  a  fellow 
who  can  do  for  us  all  we  want,  if  his  money  hold  out,  which  I 
doubt.  He  is  a  carver  by  trade,  and  a  convict  like  ourselves, 
but  is  permitted  by  his  master  to  work  at  his  trade  in  the  town. 
He  hath  been,  it  is  true,  branded  in  the  hand,  but.  Lord,  what 
signifies  that  ?  He  was  once  a  thief ;  well,  he  is  now  an  honest 
lad  again,  who  asks  for  nothing  but  to  get  home  again.  John 
Nuthall  is  his  name." 

"  Go  on,  Barnaby.  We  are  already  in  such  good  company 
that  another  rogue  or  two  matters  little." 

"  This  man  came  here  secretly  last  night,  while  you  were  in 
the  sick-house,  lad.  He  is  very  hot  upon  getting  away.  And 
because  I  am  a  sailor,  and  can  navigate  a  craft  (which  he  cannot 
do),  he  will  take  with  him  not  only  myself,  but  also  all  my  party. 
Now  listen,  Humphrey.  He  hath  bought  a  boat  of  a  Guinea 
man  in  the  harbor ;  and  because,  to  prevent  the  escape  of  ser- 
vants, every  boat  is  licensed,  and  her  owner  has  to  give  security 
to  the  governor's  ofiicers,  he  hath  taken  this  boat,  secretly,  up  a 
little  creek  of  which  he  knows,  and  hath  there  sunk  her  three 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  329 

feet  deep.  The  masts,  tlie  sails,  the  oars,  and  the  other  gear  lie 
hath  also  bestowed  in  a  secret  place.  But  we  cannot  sail  with- 
out water,  provisions,  nor  without  a  compass,  at  least.  If  our 
party  is  to  consist  of  sister,  Robin,  you,  John  Nuthall,  and  my- 
self, five  in  all,  we  shall  have  to  load  the  boat  with  provisions, 
and  I  must  have  a  compass.  I  look  for  a  boatful  with  ourselves 
and  John  Nuthall.  Now  we  have  Sis  as  well ;  and  the  boat  is 
but  small.  Where  shall  we  get  provisions  ?  and  where  shall  we 
lay  our  hands  upon  the  money  to  buy  what  we  want  ?" 

He  could  talk  of  nothing  else,  because  his  mind  was  full  of 
his  plan.  Yet  it  seemed  to  me  a  most  desperate  enterprise  thus 
to  launch  a  small  boat  upon  the  wide  ocean,  and  in  this  cockle- 
shell to  brave  the  waves  which  are  often  fatal  to  the  tallest 
ships. 

"  Tut,  man,"  said  Barnaby.  "  We  are  not  now  in  the  season 
of  the  tornadoes,  and  there  is  no  other  danger  upon  these  seas. 
I  would  as  lief  be  in  an  open  boat  as  in  a  brigantine.  Sharks 
may  follow  us,  but  they  will  not  attack  a  boat ;  calamaries  they 
talk  of,  big  enough  to  lay  their  arms  round  the  boat,  and  so  to 
drag  it  under ;  but  such  monsters  have  I  never  seen,  any  more 
than  I  have  seen  the  great  whale  of  Norway  or  the  monstrous 
birds  of  the  Southern  Seas.  There  is  only  one  danger,  Humphrey, 
ray  lad  " — here  he  laid  his  hand  upon  mine,  and  became  mighty 
serious — "  if  we  are  taken  we  shall  be  flogged,  all  of  us.  Thir- 
ty-nine lashes  they  will  lay  on,  and  they  will  brand  us.  For  my- 
self, I  value  not  their  thirty-nine  lashes  a  brass  farthing,  nor 
their  branding  with  a  hot  iron,  which  can  but  make  a  man  jump 
for  a  day  or  two.  To  me  this  risk  against  the  chance  of  escape 
matters  nothing.  Why,  when  I  was  cabin-boy  I  got  daily  more 
than  thirty-nine  lashes,  kicks,  cuffs,  and  rope's-endings.  Nay,  I 
remember,  when  we  sat  over  the  Latin  syntax  together,  my  daily 
ration  must  have  been  thirty-nine,  more  or  less,  and  dad's  arm 
was  stronger  than  you  would  judge  to  look  at  him.  If  they 
catch  me,  let  them  lay  on  their  thirty-nine,  and  be  damned  to 
them.     But  you  and  Robin,  I  doubt,  think  otherwise." 

"  I  would  not  willingly  be  flogged,  Barnaby,  if  there  were  any 
way  of  escape,  even  by  death." 

"  So  I  thought.     So  I  thought." 

"  And  as  for  Robin,  if  he  recovers,  which  I  doubt,  he,  too,  if 
I  know  him,  would  rather  be  killed  than  be  flogged." 


330  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Tliat  comes  of  Oxford,"  said  Barnaby.  "  And  then  tliere  is 
Sis.  Humphrey,  my  lad,  it  goes  to  my  heart  to  think  of  Jjiat 
poor  girl,  stripped  to  be  lashed  like  a  black  slave  or  a  Bristol 
drab." 

"  Barnaby,  she  must  never  run  that  dreadful  risk." 

"  Then  she  must  remain  behind.  And  here  she  runs  that  risk 
every  day.  What  prevents  yon  drunken  sot — the  taste  of  that 
stick  still  sticks  in  my  gizzard — I  say,  what  prevents  him  from 
tying  her  up  to-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  every  day  ?" 

"  Barnaby,  I  say  that  she  must  never  run  that  risk,  for  if  we 
are  caught — "     I  stopped. 

"  Before  we  are  caught  you  would  say,  Humphrey.  We  are 
of  the  same  mind  there.  But  who  is  to  kill  her  ?  Not  Robin, 
for  he  loves  her ;  not  you,  because  you  have  too  great  a  kind- 
ness for  her ;  not  I,  because  I  am  her  brother.  What  should  I 
say  to  my  mother  when  I  meet  her  after  we  are  dead,  and  she 
asks  me  who  killed  Grace  ?" 

"  Barnaby,  if  she  is  to  die,  let  us  all  die  together." 

"  Ay,"  he  replied,  "  though  I  have,  I  confess,  no  great  stom- 
ach for  dying,  yet,  since  we  have  got  her  with  us,  it  must  be 
done.  'Tis  easy  to  let  the  water  into  the  boat,  and  so,  in  three 
minutes,  with  no  suspicion  at  all,  and  my  mother  never  to  know 
anything  about  it,  she  would  have  said  her  last  prayers,  and  we 
should  be  all  sinking  together  with  never  a  gasp  left." 

I  took  him,  after  this  talk,  to  the  sick-house,  where  Grace  was 
beginning  her  second  night  of  nursing.  Barnaby  saluted  his 
sister  as  briefly  as  if  her  presence  were  the  thing  he  most  ex- 
pected. 

The  room  was  lit  by  a  horn  lantern  containing  a  candle,  which 
gave  enough  light  to  see  Robin  on  the  bed  and  Grace  standing 
beside  him.  The  woman  called  Deb  was  sitting  on  the  floor, 
wrapped  in  her  rug. 

"  Sis,"  said  Barnaby,  "  I  have  heard  from  Humphrey  how 
thou  wast  cozened  out  of  thy  money  and  enticed  on  board  ship. 
Well,  this  world  is  full  of  villains,  and  I  doubt  whether  I  shall 
live  to  kill  them  all.  One  I  must  kill,  and  one  I  must  cudgel. 
Patience,  therefore,  and  no  more  upon  this  head.  Sis,  dost  love 
to  be  a  servant  ?" 

"  Surely  not,  Barnaby." 

"  Wouldst  like  to  get  thy  freedom  again  ?" 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  331 

"  I  know  not  the  meaning  of  thy  words,  brother.  Madam 
says  that  those  who  have  interest  at  home  may  procure  pardons 
for  their  friends  in  the  pLantations.  Also  that  those  whose 
friends  have  money  may  buy  their  freedom  from  servitude.  I 
am  sure  that  Mr.  Boscorel  would  willingly  do  this  for  Kobin 
and  for  Humphrey,  but  for  myself,  how  can  I  ask  ?  How  can 
I  ever  let  him  know  where  I  am  and  in  what  condition  ?" 

"  Ay,  ay.  But  I  meant  not  that  way.  Child,  wilt  thou  trust 
thyself  to  us  ?" 

She  looked  at  Robin.     "  I  cannot  leave  him,"  she  said. 

"  No,  no.  We  shall  wait  until  he  is  dead,  or,  perhaps,  better" 
— but  he  only  added  this  to  please  his  sister.  "When  he  is  bet- 
ter, Sis,  thou  wilt  not  be  afraid  to  trust  thyself  with  us  ?" 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  any  danger,  even  of  death,  with  you,  if 
that  is  the  danger  in  your  mind,  Barnaby." 

"  Good  !  Then  we  understand  each  other.  There  are  other 
dangers  for  a  young  and  handsome  woman,  and  may  be  worse 
dangers.     Hast  any  money  at  all,  by  chance  ?"  ' 

"  Nay,  the  man  Penne  took  all  my  money." 

Barnaby,  for  five  or  six  minutes,  without  stopping,  spoke  upon 
this  topic  after  the  manner  of  a  sailor.  "  My  turn  will  come," 
he  added.  "  No  money,  child  ?  'Tis  a  great  pity.  Had  we  a 
few  gold  pieces  now !  Some  women  have  rings  and  chains. 
But,  of  course — " 

"  Nay,  brother,  chains  I  never  had ;  and  as  for  rings,  there 
were  but  two  that  ever  I  had — one  from  Robin  the  day  that  I 
was  plighted  to  him,  and  one  from  the  man  who  made  me  marry 
him,  and  put  it  on  in  church.  The  former  did  I  break  and  throw 
away  when  I  agreed  for  your  dear  lives,  Barnaby.  Oli,  for  the 
lives  of  all !" 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Barnaby.  "  Patience,  patience.  Oh, 
I  shall  get  such  a  chance  some  day !" 

"  The  other  I  threw  away  Avhen  I  fled  from  my  husband  at  the 
church  door." 

"  Ay,  ay.  If  we  only  had  a  little  money  !  'Tis  a  pity  that  we 
should  fail  for  want  of  a  little  money." 

"  Why,"  said  Grace,  "  I  had  quite  forgotten.  I  have  some- 
thing that  may  bring  money."  She  pulled  from  her  neck  a 
black  ribbon,  on  which  was  a  little  leathern  bag.  'Tis  the  ring 
the  duke  gave  me  at  Ilchester  long  ago.     I  have  never  parted 


332  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

witli  it.     <  God  grant,'  lie  said,  when  lie  gave  it  to  me,  '  that  it 
may  bring  thee  luck.'     Will  the  ring  help,  Barnaby  ?" 

I  took  it  first  from  her  hand. 

"Why,"  I  said,  "it  is  a  sweet  and  costly  ring.  Jewels  I 
know,  and  have  studied.  If  I  mistake  not,  these  emeralds  must 
be  worth  a  great  sum.  But  how  shall  we  dispose  of  so  valuable 
a  ring  in  this  place,  and  without  causing  suspicion  ?" 

"  Give  it  to  me."  Barnaby  took  it,  looked  at  it,  and  laid  it, 
bag  and  all,  in  his  pocket.  "  There  are  at  the  port  merchants 
of  all  kinds,  who  will  buy  a  ship's  cargo  of  sugar  one  minute, 
and  the  next  will  sell  you  as  red  herrings.  They  will  also  ad- 
vance money  upon  a  ring.  As  for  suspicion,  there  are  hundreds 
of  convicts  and  servants  here.  'Tis  but  to  call  the  ring  the  prop- 
erty of  such  an  one,  and  no  questions  will  be  asked.  My  friend 
John  Nuthal],  the  carver,  shall  do  this  for  us.  And  now,  Sis,  I 
think  that  our  business  is  as  good  as  done.  Have  no  fear,  we 
shall  get  away.  First  get  Robin  well,  and  then — "  Here  Bar- 
naby gazed  upon  her  face  with  affection  and  with  pity.  "  But, 
sister,  understand  rightly,  'tis  no  child's  play  of  hide-and-go- 
seek.  'Tis  life  or  death — life  or  death.  If  we  fly  we  must  nev- 
er come  back  again,  understand  that  well." 

"  Since  we  are  in  the  Lord's  hands,  brother,  why  should  we 
fear  ?  Take  me  with  you  ;  let  me  die,  if  you  must  die  ;  and  if 
you  live  I  am  content  to  live  with  you,  so  that  my  husband  never 
finds  me  out." 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


There  is  between  the  condition  of  the  mind  and  that  of  the 
body  an  interdependence  which  cannot  but  be  recognized  by 
every  physician.  So  greatly  has  this  connection  affected  some 
of  the  modern  physicians,  as  to  cause  doubts  in  their  minds 
whether  there  be  any  life  at  all  hereafter,  or  if,  when  the  pulse 
ceases  to  beat,  the  whole  man  should  become  a  dead  and  sense- 
less lump  of  clay.  In  this  they  confuse  the  immortal  soul  with 
the  perishable  instruments  of  brain  and  body  through  which,  in 
life,  it  manifests  its  being,  and  betrays  its  true  nature,  whether 
of  good  or  ill. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  333 

Thus  the  condition  in  which  Robin  now  lay  clearly  corre- 
sponded, as  I  now  understand,  with  tlie  state  of  his  mind  in- 
duced by  the  news  that  Grace  to  save  his  life  had  been  betrayed 
into  marrying  his  cousin.  For,  at  the  hearing  of  that  dreadful 
news  he  was  seized  with  such  a  transport  of  rage  (not  against 
that  poor  innocent  victim,  but  against  his  cousin)  as  threatened 
to  throw  him  into  madness,  and  on  recovering  from  this  access 
he  presently  fell  into  a  kind  of  despair  in  which  he  languished 
during  the  whole  voyage.  So  also  in  a  corresponding  manner 
after  a  fever,  the  violence  of  which  was  like  to  have  torn  him 
to  pieces,  he  fell  into  a  lethargy  in  which,  though  his  fever  left 
him,  he  continued  to  wander  in  his  mind  and  grew,  as  I  could 
not  fail  to  mark,  daily  weaker  in  his  body,  refusing  to  eat, 
though  Grace  brought  him  daily  broth  of  chicken,  delicate  pa- 
nadas of  bread-and-butter,  fruit  boiled  with  sugar,  and  other 
things  fit  to  tempt  a  sick  man's  appetite,  provided  by  the  good- 
ness of  madam.  This  lady  was  in  religion  a  Romanist ;  by 
birth  she  was  a  Spanish  quadroon ;  to  escape  the  slavery  to 
which  the  color  of  her  grandmother  doomed  her,  she  escaped 
from  Cuba  and  found  her  way  to  Jamaica,  where  she  met  with 
our  master.  And  whether  she  was  lawfully  married  unto  him 
I  will  not,  after  her  kindness  to  Grace  and  her  faithfulness 
to  myself  as  regards  Robin,  so  much  as  ask. 

Robin,  therefore,  though  the  fever  left  him,  did  not  mend. 
On  the  contrary,  as  I  have  said,  he  grew  daily  weaker,  so  that 
I  marvelled  at  his  lasting  so  long,  and  looked  to  see  him  die,  as 
so  many  die,  in  the  early  morning,  when  there  is  a  sharpness 
or  eagerness  in  the  air,  and  the  body  is  exhausted  by  long  sleep. 
Yet  he  died  not. 

And  now  you  shall  hear  how,  through  the  Duke  of  JNIon- 
mouth's  ring,  we  escaped  from  our  servitude.  "  God  grant," 
said  the  duke,  "  that  it  bring  thee  good  luck."  This  was  a 
light  and  unconsidered  prayer,  forgotten  as  soon  as  uttered, 
meant  only  to  please  the  ear  of  a  child.  And  yet,  in  a  manner 
most  marvellous  to  consider,  it  proved  the  salvation  of  us  all. 
What  better  luck  could  that  ring  cause  than  that  wc  should 
escape  from  the  land  of  Egypt — the  House  of  Bondage  ? 

"  I  have  disposed  of  the  ring,"  Barnaby  told  me  a  few  days 
later.  "  That  is  to  say,  John  Nuthall  hath  secretly  pledged  it 
with  a  merchant  for  twenty  guineas.     He  said  that  the  ring 


334  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

belonged  to  a  convict,  but  many  of  them  have  brought  such  prec- 
ious things  with  them  in  order  to  buy  their  freedom.  He  owns 
that  the  stones  are  fine,  and  very  willingly  gave  the  money  on 
their  security." 

"  Then  nothing  remains,"  I  said,  "  but  to  get  away." 

"  John  Nuthall  has  bought  provisions  and  all  we  want,  little 
by  little,  so  as  to  excite  no  suspicion  ;  they  are  secretly  and  safely 
bestowed,  and  half  the  money  still  remains  in  his  hands.  How 
goes  Robin  ?" 

"  He  draws  daily  nearer  to  his  grave.  We  cannot  depart  un- 
til he  either  mends  or  dies.     'Tis  another  disaster,  Barnaby." 

"  Ay,  but  of  disaster  Ave  must  not  think.  Robin  will  -  die  ; 
yet  our  own  case  may  be  as  bad  if  it  comes  to  scuttling  the  ship. 
Cheer  up,  lad  !  many  men  die,  but  the  world  goes  on.  Poor 
Robin  !  Every  man  for  himself,  and  the  Lord  for  us  all.  Sis 
will  cry ;  but  even  if  Robin  recovers,  he  cannot  marry  "her,  a 
consideration  which  ought  to  comfort  her.  And  for  him,  since 
nothing  else  will  serve  him,  it  is  best  that  he  should  die.  Bet- 
ter make  an  end  at  once  than  go  all  his  life  with  hanging  head 
for  the  sake  of  a  woman.  As  if  there  are  not  plenty  of  women 
in  the  world  to  serve  his  turn." 

"  I  know  not  what  ails  him  that  he  doth  not  get  better.  The 
air  is  too  hot  for  him ;  he  hath  lost  his  appetite.  Barnaby,"  I 
cried,  moved  to  a  sudden  passion  of  pity  such  as  would  often 
seize  me  at  that  time,  "  saw  one  ever  ruin  more  complete  than 
ours  ?  Had  we  been  fighting  for  Spain  and  the  accursed  Inqui- 
sition we  could  not  have  been  more  heavily  punished.  And 
we  were  fighting  on  the  Lord's  side." 

"  We  were — dad  was  with  us,  too.  And  see  how  he  was 
served.  The  Lord,  it  seems,  doth  not  provide  his  servants  Avith 
arms,  or  with  ammunition,  or  with  commanders.  Otherwise, 
the  duke  this  day  Avould  be  in  St.  James's  Palace  wearing  his 
father's  crown,  and  you  would  be  a  court  physician  with  a  great 
wig  and  a  velvet  coat,  instead  of  a  Monmouth  cap  and  a  canvas 
shirt.  And  I  should  be  an  admiral.  But  what  doth  it  profit 
to  ask  why  and  wherefore  !  Let  us  first  get  clear  of  the  wreck. 
Well,  I  wish  we  were  to  take  Robin  with  us.  'Twill  be  a  poor 
business  going  back  to  Bradford  Orcas  without  him." 

We  waited,  therefore,  day  after  day,  for  Robin  either  to  get 
better  or  to  die,  and  still  he  lingered,  seemingly  in  a  waste  or 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  335 

decline,  but  sucli  as  I  liad  never  before  seen,  and  I  know  not 
what  would  have  happened  to  him,  whether  he  would  have  lived 
or  died.  But  then  there  happened  a  thing  which  caused  us  to 
wait  no  longer.     It  was  this  : 

The  master,  having,  according  to  his  daily  custom,  gone  the 
round  of  his  estate,  that  is  to  say,  having  seen  his  servants  all 
at  work  under  their  drivers — some  planting  with  the  hoe,  some 
weeding,  some  cutting  the  maize,  some  gathering  yams,  pota- 
toes, cassava,  or  bonavist  for  provisions,  some  attending  the 
ingenio  or  the  still-house — did  unluckily  take  into  his  head  to 
visit  the  sick-house.  What  was  more  unfortunate,  this  desire 
came  upon  him  after  he  had  taken  a  morning  dram,  and  that  of 
the  stiffest ;  not,  indeed,  enough  to  make  him  drunk,  but  enough 
to  make  him  obstinate  and  Avilful.  When  I  saw  him  standing 
at  the  open  door,  I  perceived  by  the  glassiness  of  his  eyes  and 
the  unsteadiness  of  his  shoulders  that  he  had  already  began 
the  day's  debauch.  He  was  now  in  a  most  dangerous  condition 
of  mind.  Later  in  the  day,  when  he  was  more  advanced  in 
drink,  he  might  be  violent,  but  he  would  be  much  less  danger- 
ous, because  he  would  afterwards  forget  what  he  h"ad  said  or 
done  in  his  cups. 

"  So,  Sir  Doctor,"  he  said,  "  I  have  truly  a  profitable  pair  of 
servants — one  who  pretends  to  cure  everybody  and  so  escapes 
work,  and  your  cousin  who  pretends  to  be  sick,  and  so  will  do 
none.  A  mighty  bargain  I  made,  truly,  when  I  bought  you 
both." 

"  With  submission,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  have  within  the  last  week 
earned  for  your  honor  ten  guineas'  worth  of  fees." 

"  Well,  that  is  as  it  may  be.  How  do  I  know  what  hath 
gone  into  your  own  pocket  ?  Where  is  this  malinger  fellow  ? 
Make  him  sit  up.     Sit  up,  I  say,  ye  skulking  dog — sit  up  !" 

"  Sir,"  I  said,  still  speaking  with  the  greatest  humility,  "  no- 
body but  the  Lord  can  make  this  man  sit  up."  And,  indeed, 
Robin  did  not  comprehend  one  word  that  was  said. 

"  I  gave  fifty  pounds  for  him  only  a  month  ago.  Am  I  to 
lose  all  that  money,  I  ask  ?  Fifty  pounds,  because  I  was  told 
that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  would  be  ransomed  by  his  family. 
Hark  ye,  doctor,  you  must  either  cure  this  man  for  me,  or  else, 
by  the  Lord  !  you  shall  have  his  ransom  added  to  your  own. 
If  he  dies,  I  will  double  your  price  ;  mark  that." 


336  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  said  nothing,  hoping  that  he  would  depart.  As  for  Grace, 
she  had  turned  her  back  upon  him  at  his  lirst  appearance  (as 
madam  had  ordered  her  to  do),  so  that  he  might  not  notice  her. 

Unfortunately  he  did  not  depart,  but  came  into  the  room, 
looking  about  him.  Certainly  he  was  not  one  who  would  suffer 
his  servants  to  be  negligent  even  in  the  smallest  things. 

"  Here  is  fine  work,"  he  said.  "  Sheets  of  the  best — a  pil- 
low ;  what  hath  a  servant  to  do  with  such  luxuries  ?" 

"  My  cousin  is  a  gentleman,"  I  told  him,  "  and  accustomed 
to  lie  in  linen.  The  rug  which  is  enough  for  him  in  health 
must  have  a  sheet  to  it  as  well  now  that  he  is  sick." 

"  Humph  !  And  whom  have  we  here  ?  Who  art  thou,  madam, 
I  wish  to  knoAv  ?" 

Grace  turned. 

"  I  am  your  honor's  servant,"  she  said.  "  I  am  employed  in 
this  sick-house  when  I  am  not  in  the  sewing-room." 

"  A  servant  ?  oh,  madam,  I  humbly  crave  your  pardon.  I 
took  you  for  some  fine  lady.  I  am  honored  by  having  such  a 
servant.  All  the  rest  of  my  Avomen  servants  go  in  plain  smock 
and  petticoats.  But — "  here  he  smiled — "  to  so  lovely  a  girl 
as  Grace  Eykin — fair  Grace — sweet  Grace — we  must  give  the 
bravest  and  daintiest.  To  thee,  my  dear,  nothing  can  be  de- 
nied. Those  dainty  cheeks,  those  white  hands,  were  never  made 
to  adorn  a  common  coif.  Mistress  Grace,  we  must  be  better 
acquainted.  This  is  no  fit  place  for  you.  Not  the  sick-house, 
but  the  best  room  in  my  house  shall  be  at  thy  service." 

"  Sir,  I  ask  for  nothing  but  to  sit  retired,  and  to  render  such 
service  as  is  in  my  power." 

"  To  sit  retired  ?  Why,  that  cannot  be  longer  suffered. 
'Twould  be  a  sin  to  keep  hidden  any  longer  this  treasure,  this 
marvel,  I  say,  of  beauty  and  grace.  My  servant  ?  Nay,  'tis  I, 
'tis  the  whole  island,  who  are  thy  servants.  Thou  to  render 
service  ?  'Tis  for  me,  madam,  to  render  service  to  thy  beauty." 
He  took  off  his  hat  and  flourished  it,  making  a  leg. 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  Grace, "  suffer  me,  I  pray,  to  go  about  my  busi- 
ness, which  is  with  this  sick  man,  and  not  to  hear  compliments." 

He  caught  her  hand  and  would  have  kissed  it,  but  she  drew 
it  back. 

"  Nay,  coy  damsel,"  he  said,  *'  I  swear  I  will  not  go  without 
a  kiss  from  thy  lips.     Kiss  me,  ray  dear." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  337 

She  started  back  and  I  rushed  between  them.  At  that  mo- 
ment madam  herself  appeared. 

"  What  do  you  here  ?"  she  cried,  catching  his  arm.  "  What 
has  this  girl  to  do  with  you  ?  Come  away.  Come  away  and 
leave  her  in  peace." 

"  Go  back  to  the  house,  woman  !"  he  roared,  breaking  from 
her  and  flourishing  his  stick  so  that  I  thought  he  was  actually 
going  to  cudgel  her.  "  Go  back,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you. 
What !  am  I  master  here,  or  you  ?    Go  back,  I  say  !" 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  She  made  no  reply,  but  she 
turned  upon  him  eyes  so  full  of  authority  that  she  looked  like 
a  queen.  lie  shifted  his  feet,  made  as  if  he  would  speak,  and 
finally  obeyed  and  went  out  of  the  place  to  his  own  house  with 
the  greatest  meekness,  soberness,  and  quietness. 

Presently  madam  came  back. 

"  I  blame  thee  not,  child,"  she  said.  "  It  is  with  him  as  I 
have  told  thee.  When  he  begins  to  drink  the  devil  enters  into 
him.  Dost  think  he  came  here  to  see  the  sick  man  ?  No,  but 
for  thy  fair  eyes,  inflamed  with  love  as  well  as  with  drink.  At 
such  times  no  one  can  rule  him  but  myself,  and  even  I  may  fail. 
Keep  snug,  therefore.  Perhaps  he  may  forget  thee  again. 
But,  indeed,  I  know  not." 

She  sighed  and  left  us. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

BARNABY  THE    AVENGER. 


The  man  did  not  come  back.  During  the  wliole  day  I  re- 
mained Avith  Grace  in  fear.     But  he  molested  us  not. 

When  the  sun  set  and  the  field-hands  returned,  I  was  in  tAvo 
minds  whether  to  tell  Barnaby  what  had  happened  or  not.  But 
when  I  saw  his  honest  face,  streaked  with  the  dust  of  the  day's 
work,  and  watched  him  eating  his  lump  of  salt  beef  and  basin 
of  yellow  porridge  with  as  much  satisfaction  as  if  it  had  been  a 
banquet  of  all  the  dainties,  I  could  not  bear,  without  greater 
cause,  to  disturb  his  mind. 

"  To-night,"  he  told  me,  when  there  was  no  more  beef  and 
the  porridge  was  all  eaten,  "  there  is  a  great  feast  at  the  Bridge. 
15  Y 


338  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  would  we  had  some  of  their  sherries  and  Madeira.  The 
Governor  of  Nevis  landed  yesterday,  and  is  entertained  to-day 
by  our  governor.  All  the  militia  are  feasting,  oflBcers  and  men  ; 
nobody  will  be  on  the  lookout  anywhere  ;  and  it  is  a  dark  night, 
with  no  moon.  What  a  chance  for  us,  could  we  make  our  es- 
cape to-night !  There  may  never  again  happen  such  a  chance 
for  us.     How  goes  Robin  ?" 

And  so  after  a  little  more  talk  we  lay  down  in  our  hammocks, 
and  I,  for  one,  fell  instantly  asleep,  having  no  fear  at  all  for 
Grace ;  first,  because  the  master  would  be  now  at  the  Bridge 
feasting,  and  too  drunk  for  anything  but  to  sleep  ;  and  next,  be- 
cause she  had  with  her  the  woman  Deb,  as  stout  and  lusty  as 
any  man. 

The  master  was  not  at  the  Bridge  with  the  rest  of  the  planters 
and  gentlemen.  Perhaps  the  drink  which  he  took  in  the  morn- 
ing caused  him  to  forget  the  great  banquet.  However  that  may 
be,  he  was,  most  unluckily  for  himself,  drinking  at  home  and 
alone,  yet  dressed  in  his  best  coat  and  wig,  and  with  his  sword, 
all  of  which  he  had  put  on  for  the  governor's  banquet. 

After  a  while  the  devil  entered  into  him,  finding  easy  admis- 
sion, so  to  speak — all  doors  thrown  wide  open  and  even  a  wel- 
come in  that  debauched  and  profligate  soul.  About  eight  o'clock, 
therefore,  prompted  by  the  Evil  One,  the  master  rose  and  stealth- 
ily crept  out  of  the  house. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  but  he  needed  no  light  to  guide  his  foot- 
steps. He  crossed  the  court  and  made  straight  for  the  sick- 
house. 

He  pushed  the  door  open  and  stood  for  a  little  looking  with- 
in. By  the  light  of  the  horn  lantern  he  saw  the  girl  whose  im- 
age was  in  his  mind.  The  sight  might  have  caused  him  to 
return,  repentant  and  ashamed.  For  she  was  on  her  knees,  pray- 
ing aloud  beside  the  bedside  of  the  sick  man. 

As  he  stood  in  the  door  the  woman  named  Deb,  who  lay  upon 
the  floor  asleep,  woke  up  and  raised  her  head.  But  he  saw  her 
not.  Then  she  sat  up,  watching  him  with  suspicion.  But  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  figure  of  Grace.  Then  she  sprang  to  her 
feet,  for  now  she  knew  that  mischief  was  meant,  and  she  stood 
in  readiness,  prepared  with  her  great  strong  arms  to  defend  her 
mistress.  But  he  thought  nobody  was  in  the  house  but  Grace 
and  the  sick  man.     He  saw  nothing  but  the  girl  at  the  bedside. 


FOR   FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  339 

I  say  tliat  I  was  sleeping.  I  was  awakened  at  the  sound  of 
a  shriek  ;  I  knew  the  voice ;  I  sprang  from  the  lianimock. 

"  God  of  mercy  !"  I  cried.  "  It  is  Grace  I  Barnaby,  awake — 
awake,  I  say  !     It  is  the  cry  of  Grace  !" 

Then  I  rushed  to  the  sick-house. 

There  I  saw  Grace  shrieking  and  crying  for  help.  And  be- 
fore her  the  master  struggUng  and  wrestUng  with  the  woman 
Deb.  She  had  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  made  as  if  she  were 
trying  to  throttle  him.  Nay,  I  think  that  she  would  have  throt- 
tled him,  so  strong  she  was  and  possessed  of  such  a  spirit,  and 
by  the  light  of  the  lantern  gleaming  upon  the  blade  I  saw  that 
his  sword  had  either  fallen  from  his  hand  or  from  the  scabbard, 
and  now  lay  upon  the  floor. 

"  Stand  back  !"  cried  Barnaby,  pushing  me  aside.  "  Leave  go 
of  him,  woman.     Let  me  deal  with  him." 

The  thing  was  done  in  a  moment.  Merciful  heavens !  To 
think  that  thus  suddenly  should  the  soul  of  man  be  called  to  its 
account !  I  had  seen  the  poor  fellows  shot  down  and  cut  to 
pieces  on  Sedgemoor,  but  then  they  knew  that  they  were  going 
forth  to  fight  and  so  might  be  killed.  There  was  time  before 
the  battle  for  a  prayer ;  but  this  man  had  no  time,  and  he  was 
more  than  half  drunk  as  well. 

He  lay  at  our  feet,  lifeless,  Barnaby  standing  over  him  with 
a  broken  sword  in  his  hand. 

For  a  while  no  one  spoke  or  moved.  But  the  woman  called 
Deb  gasped  and  panted,  and  even  laughed,  as  one  who  is  well 
pleased  because  she  hath  had  her  revenge. 

Then  madam  herself,  clad  in  a  long  white  night-dress  and 
with  bare  feet,  suddenly  pushed  us  aside  and  fell  upon  her  knees 
beside  the  wounded  man. 

She  lifted  his  head.  The  face  was  pale  and  the  eyes  closed. 
She  laid  it  gently  down  and  looked  round. 

"  You  have  killed  him,"  she  said,  speaking  not  in  a  rage  or 
passion,  but  quietly.  "  You  have  killed  him.  To-morrow  you 
will  hang.     You  will  all  hang." 

We  said  nothing. 

"  Doctor,"  she  turned  to  me,  "  tell  me  if  he  is  dead  or  living?' 

She  snatched  the  lantern  and  held  it,  while  I  made  such  ex- 
amination as  was  possible.  I  opened  his  waistcoat  and  laid 
back  his  shirt.     The  sword  had  run  straight  through  him  and 


340  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

broken  off  sliort,  perhaps  by  contact  with  liis  ribs.  The  broken 
point  remained  in  the  wound  and  the  flesh  had  closed  around  it, 
so  that,  save  for  a  drop  of  blood  or  two  oozing  out,  there  was 
no  flow. 

It  needs  not  great  knowledge  to  understand  that  when  a  man 
hath  six  inches  of  steel  in  his  body  which  cannot  be  pulled  out, 
and  when  he  is  bleeding  inwardly,  he  must  die. 

Still,  as  physicians  use,  I  did  not  tell  her  so. 

"Madam,"  I  said,  "he  is  not  dead.  lie  is  living.  While 
there  is  life  there  is  hope." 

"  Oh !"  she  cried,  "  why  did  he  buy  you  when  he  could  have 
had  the  common  sort  ?  You  will  hang — you  will  hang,  every  one." 

"That  shall  we  presently  discover,"  said  Barnaby.  "Hum- 
phrey, we  have  now  no  choice  left ;  what  did  I  tell  thee  about  the 
chances  of  the  night?  We  must  go  this  night.  As  for  this 
villain,  let  him  bleed  to  death." 

"  Go  ?"  said  madam.  "  Whither,  unhappy  men,  will  you  go  ? 
There  is  no  place  in  the  island  where  you  can  hide,  but  with 
bloodhounds  they  will  have  you  out.  You  can  go  nowhere  in 
this  island  but  you  will  be  found  and  hanged,  unless  you  arc 
shot  like  rats  in  a  hole." 

"  Come,  Humphrey,"  said  Barnaby,  "  we  will  carry  Robin. 
This  poor  woman  must  go  too ;  she  will  else  be  hanged  for  trying 
to  throttle  him.  Well,  she  can  lend  a  hand  to  carry  Robin. 
Madam,  by  your  leave  we  will  not  hang,  nor  will  be  shot.  In 
the — in  the — the  cave — that  I  know  of  your  bloodhounds  will 
never  find  us." 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  it  is  true  that  we  shall  attempt  to  escape. 
For  what  hath  happened  I  am  truly  sorry.  Yet  we  may  not 
suffer  such  a  thing  as  was  this  night  attempted  without  resist- 
ance. Else  should  we  be  worse  than  the  ignorant  blacks.  The 
master  will  perhaps  live  and  not  die.  Listen,  and  take  heed 
therefore." 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  "  do  not  leave  me.  Stay  with  me,  or  he 
will  die.  Doctor,  stay  with  me  and  I  will  save  your  life.  I  will 
swear  that  you  came  at  my  call.  Stay  with  me ;  I  will  save 
Grace  as  well.  I  will  save  you  both.  You  shall  be  neither 
flogged  nor  hanged.  I  swear  it ;  I  will  say  that  I  called  you  for 
help  when  it  was  too  late.  Only  this  man  and  this  woman  shall 
hang.     Who  are  they?  a  rogue  and—" 


"  '  Stand  back  !'  cried  Barnaby,  pushing  me  aside.     '  Leave  go  of  Mm, 
woman.     Let  me  deal  with  him.'  " 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  341 

Barnaby  laughed  aloud. 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  "  if  you  stay,  he  will,  perhaps,  recover 
and  forgive  you  all — '' 

Barnaby  laughed  again. 

"  Madam,"  I  told  her,  "  better  death  upon  the  gallows  than 
any  further  term  of  life  with  such  a  man." 

"  Oh  !"  she  cried.     "  He  will  die  where  he  is  lying." 

"  That  may  be,  I  know  not."  I  gave  her  certain  directions, 
bidding  her,  above  all,  watch  the  man  and  cause  him  to  lie  per- 
fectly quiet,  and  not  to  speak  a  word  even  in  a  whisper,  and  to 
give  him  a  few  drops  of  cordial  from  time  to  time. 

"  Come,"  said  Barnaby,  "  we  lose  time  which  is  precious. 
Madam,  if  your  husband  recover — and  for  my  part  I  care  noth- 
ing whether  he  recover  or  whether  he  die ;  but  if  he  should  re- 
cover, tell  him  from  me.  Captain  Barnaby  Eykin,  that  I  shall 
very  likely  return  to  this  island,  and  that  I  shall  then,  the  Lord 
helping,  kill  him  in  fair  duello  to  wipe  out  the  lash  of  the  cudgel 
which  he  was  good  enough  once  to  lay  about  my  head.  If  he 
die  of  this  trifling  thrust  with  his  own  sword,  he  must  lay  that 
to  the  account  of  my  sister.  Enough,"  said  Barnaby,  "  we  will 
now  make  our  way  to  the  woods,  and  the  cave."  . 

This  said,  Barnaby  went  to  the  head  of  Robin's  bed  and 
ordered  Deb  to  take  the  foot,  and  so  between  them  they  carried 
him  forth  with  them,  while  Grace  followed,  and  I  went  last. 

We  heard,  long  afterwards,  through  one  Mr.  Anstiss,  the  same 
young  gentleman  who  loved  Grace  and  would  have  married  her, 
what  had  happened  when  we  were  gone.  An  hour,  or  there- 
abouts, afterwards,  madam  woke  up  one  of  the  overseers,  telling 
him  what  had  happened,  and  bidding  him  be  ready  at  daybreak, 
with  the  bloodhounds,  horses,  and  loaded  guns,  to  follow  in 
pursuit  and  bring  us  back. 

There  would  be,  they  thought,  no  difficulty  at  all  in  catching 
us,  because  we  were  encumbered  by  a  sick  man  and  two  women. 

There  was,  however,  more  difficulty  than  they  expected.  For 
the  footsteps  led  the  bloodhounds  to  the  seashore,  and  here  the 
trace  was  lost,  nor  could  it  ever  afterwards  be  recovered.  And 
though  the  hue  and  cry  was  out  over  all  the  island,  and  the 
woods  and  the  ravines  and  caves,  where  runaway  negroes  hide, 
were  searched,  we  were  never  found.  Therefore,  since  no  boat 
at  all  was  missing  (the  Guineaman  had  sailed  away),  it  was  cer- 


342  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

tain  that  we  could  not  have  escaped  by  sea.  It  was  fortunate, 
indeed,  that  Barnaby  dropped  no  hint  about  the  sea,  otherwise 
there  would  have  been  despatched  some  of  the  boats  of  the 
port  in  search  of  us,  and  in  that  case  the  scuttling  of  our  craft 
might  have  been  necessary.  For,  had  we  been  caught,  we  should 
certainly  have  been  hanged  for  murder,  after  being  flogged  for 
attempted  escape.  For  the  master  died.  He  lay  speechless 
until  the  day  broke ;  then  he  became  conscious,  and  presently 
breathed  his  last  in  great  anguish  of  body  and  terror  of  mind. 
What  hath  since  become  of  madam  and  of  that  miserable  family 
of  servants  and  slaves  I  know  not.  Certain  it  is  that  they  could 
not  find  a  more  barbarous  or  a  more  savage  master  in  place  of 
him  whom  Barnaby  slew,  if  they  were  to  search  the  whole  of 
the  Spanish  Main  and  the  islands  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

A     PERILOUS    VOYAGE. 


In  this  way,  unexpected  and  tragical,  arrived  our  chance  of 
escape.  We  walked  to  Carlisle  Bay  by  way  of  the  seashore,  so 
that  we  might  be  met  by  none,  and  in  order  that  the  blood- 
hounds (if  they  should  use  them)  in  the  morning  might  be 
thrown  off  the  track.  On  the  march  that  stout  and  lusty  wench 
who  carried  one  end  of  the  bed  neither  called  for  a  halt  nor 
complained  of  the  burden  she  carried  all  the  way.  It  was  nigh 
unto  midnight  when  we  arrived  at  the  creek  in  which  the  boat 
lay  sunk.  This  was  within  a  stone's-throw  of  John  Nuthall's 
cottage,  where  were  bestowed  the  mast,  sails,  oars,  and  gear, 
with  such  provisions  as  he  had  gotten  together  for  the  voyage. 
The  man  was  sleeping  when  Barnaby  called  him,  but  he  quickly 
got  up,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  we  had  the  boat  hauled  out  of 
the  water,  the  provisions  hastily  thrown  in,  the  mast  stepped, 
our  sick  man  and  the  women  placed  in  the  bows,  the  stern  and 
middle  of  the  boat  being  encumbered  with  our  provisions ;  we 
had  pushed  down  the  muddy  and  stinking  creek,  we  had  hoisted 
sail,  and  we  were  stealing  silently  out  of  Carlisle  Bay  under  a 
light  breeze.  Three  or  four  ships  were  lying  in  the  bay,  but 
either  there  was  no  watch  kept  aboard,  or  (which  is  more  prob- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  343 

able)  it  was  no  one's  business  to  hail  a  small  sailboat  going 
out,  probably  for  fishing  at  dawn.  Besides,  the  night  was  so 
dark  that  we  may  very  well  have  escaped  notice.  However  that 
might  be,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we  were  w^ell  out  at  sea, 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  guns  of  Carlisle  Bay,  no  longer  visible 
to  the  ships  in  port,  and  without  any  fear  of  being  seen  until 
daybreak.  The  wind,  which  sometimes  dropped  altogether  in 
the  night,  still  continued  favorable,  though  very  light. 

"  My  lads,"  said  Barnaby,  presently,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"I  verily  believe  that  we  have  given  them  the  slip  this  time. 
In  the  morning  they  may  go  forth,  if  they  please,  with  their 
bloodhounds  to  hunt  for  us.  Let  them  hunt.  If  any  inquiry 
is  made  for  us  at  the  Bridge,  no  boat  will  be  missing,  and  so  no 
suspicion  will  be  awakened.  They  Avill  then,  I  suppose,  search 
for  us  among  the  caves  and  ravines  of  which  I  have  heard, 
where  there  are  hiding-places  in  plenty,  but  no  water  to  drink, 
so  that  the  poor  devils  who  run  away  and  seek  a  refuge  there 
are  speedily  forced  to  come  out  for  water,  and  so  are  caught  or 
shot  down.  Well,  they  will  hunt  a  long  time  before  they  find 
us.  This  boat  makes  a  little  water,  but  I  think  not  much.  If 
she  proves  water-tight  and  the  breeze  holds,  by  daylight  we 
should  be  well  to  the  south  of  the  island.  Courage,  therefore — 
all  will  be  well  yet.     How  goes  Robin  ?" 

He  w^as  lying  as  easily  as  we  could  manage  for  him,  one  rug 
over  him  and  another  under  him.  Grace  sat  on  one  side  of  him, 
and  the  woman  they  called  Deb  on  the  other.  Then,  because 
the  boat  sometimes  shipped  a  little  water  when  she  dipped  in 
the  waves,  Barnaby  rigged  a  tarpaulin  round  the  bows  to  pre- 
vent this,  and  (but  this  was  not  till  next  day)  over  the  tarpaulin 
he  made  out  of  a  rug  and  a  spare  spar  a  low  tilt  which,  unless 
the  weather  grew  bad,  should  shelter  those  three  by  night  from 
dew  and  spray,  and  by  day  from  the  sun  overhead  and  the  glare 
and  heat  of  the  water. 

"  Deb,"  he  said,  softly,  "  art  afraid  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  not  while  my  mistress  is  here  "  (meaning  Grace). 
"  If  we  are  taken  we  shall  all  be  flogged  well-nigh  unto  death, 
and  very  likely  hanged  as  well." 
"  I  am  not  afraid,  sir."  ' 

"  We  may  spring  a  leak,"  said  Barnaby,  "  and  so  all  go  to 
the  bottom  and  be  devoured.     Art  not  afraid  to  die  ?" 


344  FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM. 

"  No,  sir ;  not  if  I  hold  my  mistress  by  tlie  Land,  so  that  she 
may  take  me  whither  she  goes  herself." 

"  Good,"  said  Barnaby.  "  As  for  me,  I  shall  have  to  go  alone. 
Well,  there  "svill  be  a  goodly  company  of  us.  Go  to  sleep,  my 
girl.  In  the  morning  we  will  serve  around  the  first  ration,  with, 
perhaps,  if  all  be  well,  a  dram  of  cordial." 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  stars  I  watched  all  night  the  three 
figures  in  the  bow.  Robin  lay  white  and  motionless ;  Grace  sat 
covered  with  her  hood,  bending  over  him  ;  and  Deb,  from  whose 
head  her  coif  had  fallen,  lay  head  on  arm  sound  asleep.  She 
had  no  fear,  any  more  than  a  common  soldier  has  when  he  goes 
into  action,  because  he  trusts  his  captain. 

Thus  began  our  voyage,  in  an  open  boat,  twenty  feet  long, 
with  a  company  of  three  sound  men,  two  women,  and  a  sick 
man.  For  arms,  in  case  we  needed  them,  we  had  none  at  all. 
If  any  ship  crossed  our  track  and  should  call  upon  us  to  sur- 
render, we  could  not  deny  that  we  were  escaped  convicts,  be- 
cause the  dress  of  all  but  one  proclaimed  the  fact.  Who,  in 
such  a  climate,  would  choose  to  wear  a  coarse  shirt  and  canvas 
breeches,  with  a  Monmouth  cap,  except  it  was  a  servant  or  a 
slave  who  had  no  choice,  but  must  take  what  is  given  him  ? 

But  we  should  not  surrender,  come  what  might.  If  we  could 
neither  fight  nor  fly,  we  could  sink.  Said  Barnaby  in  the  dead 
of  night,  whispering  in  my  car,  "  Lad,  'tis  agreed  between  us, 
we  will  have  that  clear.  Sooner  than  be  taken  we  will  scuttle 
the  ship,  and  so  sink  altogether.  If  'tis  accounted  murder,  the 
blame  shall  lie  between  us." 

A  little  before  daybreak  the  breeze  freshened  and  the  waves 
began  to  rise,  but  not  so  high  as  to  threaten  the  boat,  which 
proved  indeed  a  most  gallant  little  craft,  dancing  over  the  waters 
as  if  she  enjoyed  being  driven  by  the  breeze.  Some  boats,  as 
sailors  will  tell  you,  being  always  apt  to  compare  these  craft 
with  living  creatures,  come  thus  frolic  and  sprightly  from  their 
makers'  hands,  while  others,  built  of  the  same  material,  and  on 
the  same  lines,  are,  on  the  contrary,  and  always  remain,  heavy 
and  lumpish,  just  as  some  childi'en  are  lively  and  gay,  while 
others,  born  of  the  same  parents,  are  dull  and  morose. 

Then  the  sun  rose,  seeming  to  leap  out  of  the  water,  a  most 
glorious  ball  of  fire,  which  instantly  warmed  the  cool  air,  and 
began  to  burn  and  scorch  our  hands  and  faces.     In  these  hot 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  345 

latitudes  one  understands  what  the  ancients  meant  when  they 
spoke  of  the  dreadful  sun-god,  who  Loth  gives  and  destroys 
life,  and  is  so  beneficial  and  yet  so  terrible.  We,  who  live  in  a 
cold  country,  are  sometimes  greatly  comforted  by  the  sun,  but 
are  never  burned ;  we  feel  his  warmth,  but  understand  not  his 
power. 

Then  Barnaby  began  to  gaze  curiousfy  all  round  the  horizon. 
We  had  no  glass  or  telescope,  but  his  eyes  were  to  him  as  good 
as  any  telescope  is  to  most  men. 

"  I  thank  the  Lord,"  he  said,  drawing  breath.  (It  was  rare 
for  Barnaby  thus  openly  to  give  praise.)  "  There  is  no  sail  in 
sight.  To  be  sure  we  have  the  day  before  us.  But  yet — " 
here  he  began  to  talk  as  some  men  use  when  they  desire  to 
place  before  their  own  minds,  clearly,  the  position  of  affairs. 
"  Very  well,  then — Barbadoes  laying  thirty  miles  or  more  north- 
east by  north.  Vessels  bound  for  the  island  from  Bristol, 
commonly  sailing  round  the  north.  Very  well,  then — we  are  out 
of  their  track.  Yet — then  again — some  are  driven  south  by 
stress  of  weather.  Ay,  there  is  our  danger.  Yet  again,  if  one 
should  see  us,  would  she  bear  down  upon  us  ?  I  greatly  doubt 
it.  The  wind  will  continue,  that  is  pretty  sure.  If  they  were 
to  discover  that  we  had  gone  by  boat,  would  they  sail  after  us  ? 
Why,  whom  could  they  send  ?  And  whither  would  they  steer  ? 
And  what  boat  have  they  that  can  sail  faster  than  this  little 
craft  ?  Yet  we  are  pretty  low  down  in  the  water.  Humphrey, 
lad,"  he  turned  upon  me  his  broad  and  sunburnt  face,  full  of 
cheerfulness,  "  we  are  not  within  many  hours  of  scuttling  yet. 
A  tight  boat,  a  fair  wind,  a  smooth  sea ;  let  us  hope  for  the 
best.     How  goes  Robin  ?" 

There  was  no  change  in  Robin,  either  for  better  or  for  worse. 

"  Sis,"  said  Barnaby,  "  art  sleeping  still.  Sis  ?  Wake  up  and 
let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  jolly.  What !  Grace,  I  say  ?  Why,  we 
have  escaped.  We  are  far  away  at  sea.  Let  us  laugh  and  sing. 
If  there  were  room  in  this  cockle  I  would  dance  also." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  threw  back  her  hood.  Ah !  what  a 
mournful  face  was  there. 

"  Oh,  brother,"  she  said,  "canst  thou  laugh  and  sing?  Hast 
thou  forgotten  last  night  ?" 

"  Why,  no,"  he  replied,  <'  one  must  not  forget  last  night,  be- 
cause it  was  the  night  of  our  escape.     AH  else,  I  own,  I  can  for- 
15* 


346  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

get.  Let  it  not  stict  in  thy  gizzard,  my  dear,  that  the  man 
frightened  thee.  Rejoice  rather  that  he  thus  afforded  me  a 
chance  of  giving  him  a  taste  of  his  own  cold  iron." 

"  Nay,  brother,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  ;  then  she  looked 
round  her.  "  We  are  a  long  way  from  the  land,"  she  said. 
"  When  will  they  send  out  a  ship  to  bring  us  back  ?" 

"  Why,  d'ye  see  ?"  Barnaby  replied.  "  Give  us  twelve  hours 
more,  and  they  may  send  out  all  their  fleet,  if  they  have  one,  and 
sail  the  wide  world  round  for  us,  and  yet  not  capture  us.  And 
now  let  us  overhaul  the  provisions,  and  examine  the  ship's 
stores,"  Grace  pulled  her  hood  down  again  and  said  no  more. 
The  woman  they  called  Deb  was  now  wide  awake,  and  staring 
about  her  with  the  greatest  satisfaction. 

"  Come,  John  Nuthall,"  Barnaby  went  on.  "  We  are  hungry 
and  thirsty.  Where  is  the  list  I  made  for  thee  ?  Thou  art  our 
purser,  our  supercargo,  our  cook,  and  our  steward.  Thou  art  also 
bo's'n  and  carpenter  and  half  the  crew.  Where  is  my  list,  I 
say  ?  Give  it  me  and  we  will  examine  our  stores.  Look  up, 
Sis ;  never  cry  over  what  is  done  and  over.  What !  A  villain 
hath  received  a  lesson,  and  thou  hangest  thy  head  therefore. 
Look  up,  I  say.  There  is  now  hope  for  all ;  thou  shalt  merrily 
dance  at  my  wedding  yet." 

Then  he  read  the  list,  and  examined  each  parcel  or  box  with 
great  care. 

"  A  hundred  and  a  half  of  bread ;  a  soft  cheese ;  plantains ; 
a  keg  of  water — nine  gallons ;  six  bottles  of  Canary — not  one 
broken ;  a  compass ;  a  half-hour  glass ;  a  spare  rug — 'tis  over 
Robin's  legs ;  flint  and  steel ;  a  bit  of  tarpaulin  ;  a  hatchet  and 
hammer ;  a  saw  ;  some  nails  ;  a  spar  or  two  ;  a  coil  of  rope  and 
yarn  ;  a  lump  of  tobacco — we  can  chew  it,  though  I  would  rather 
put  it  into  a  pipe.  Candles —  Faugh !  they  are  run  together 
in  a  lump ;  they  will  serve  to  calk  something  presently." 

We  had,  in  fact,  no  light  during  our  voyage,  but  the  tallow 
proved  useful  when  (I  think  it  was  the  next  day)  the  boat 
started  a  leak. 

This  was  all  our  store.  'Twas  not  much  for  six  people,  but 
Barnaby  hoped  that  the  voyage  would  be  short.  If  he  should 
be  disappointed,  who  would  not  put  up  with  short  rations  for  a 
day  or  two  for  the  sake  of  freedom  ?" 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  when  everything  was  stowed  away  ac- 


FOU  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  347 

cording  to  Lis  mind,  "  we  will  have  breakfast.  Our  provisions 
are  no  great  things,  but  after  the  accursed  loblollie,  a  bit  of 
bread  and  cheese  will  be  a  feast." 

A  feast  indeed  it  was,  and  our  captain  gratified  us  by  open- 
ing a  flask  of  Canary,  which  raised  all  our  hearts.  Strange 
that  men  should  be  able  to  recover  their  spirits,  which  should 
be  independent  of  the  creature  comforts,  by  a  dram  of  wine. 
As  for  Barnaby,  I  thought  he  would  have  kissed  the  bottle. 

"  It  is  now  three  months  and  more,"  ho  said,  "  that  we  have 
had  nothing  save  a  sup  of  kill-devil  fresh  from  the  still,  and 
now  we  are  mercifully  permitted  to  taste  again  a  glass  of  Ca- 
nary. 'Tis  too  much,"  he  sighed,  drinking  his  ration.  "  Well, 
we  have  but  a  few  bottles,  and  the  voyage  may  be  longer  than 
we  hope.  Therefore,  we  must  go  upon  short  allowance.  But 
fear  not.  Sis  ;  there  shall  always  be  enough  for  Robin,  poor  lad." 

He  then  proceeded  to  tell  us  what  he  intended,  and  whither 
he  would  steer. 

"  We  have  no  chart,"  he  said.  "  What  then  ?  I  can  draw 
one  as  good  as  they  are  made  to  steer  by  in  these  seas."  He 
could  not  draw  one  because  he  had  no  paper  or  pencil,  but  he 
carved  one  with  the  point  of  his  knife  on  the  seat,  and  marked 
out  our  course  upon  it  day  by  day.  "  See,"  he  said,  "  here  is 
Barbadoes.  Our  course  all  night  hath  been  sou'west.  She  now 
makes  five  knots  an  hour.  It  is  now  eight,  I  take  it,  and  we 
must  therefore  be  about  forty  miles  from  Barbadoes,  To-mor- 
row morning  we  should  make  the  Grenadilloes,  which  are  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Carlisle  Bay.  Hark  ye  !  there 
may  be  a  Bristol  vessel  sailing  from  Great  Granada  to  Barba- 
does, or  the  other  way.  That  would  be  the  devil.  But  such 
ships  are  rare,  and  there  is  no  trade  between  the  two  islands. 
Well ;  we  shall  give  Granada  as  wide  a  berth  as  may  be."  Here 
he  considered  a  little.  "  Therefore,  'twill  be  our  wiser  plan  to 
bear  more  to  the  south.  Once  south  of  Granada,  I  take  it,  there 
will  be  no  more  danger.  Off  the  main  of  South  America  the 
sea  is  covered  with  islands.  They  are  No  Man's  Land.  In- 
habitants have  they  none.  Navigators  for  the  most  part  know 
them  not.  English,  French,  and  Spanish  ships  come  never  to 
these  islands.  My  purpose,  therefore,  is  to  put  in  at  Great 
Margaritos  or  Tortuga,  for  rest  and  fresh  water,  and  so  presently 
make  the  Dutch  island  of  Curasao." 


348  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  And  after  that  ?" 

"  Then,  my  lad,  we  shall  take  ship  to  some  country  where  a 
sailor  may  get  a  berth  and  a  physician  may  find  patients.  It 
must  be  to  Holland  first ;  but  never  fear,  we  shall  get  back  to 
England  some  time,  and,  perhaps,  fight  another  battle,  with  a  dif- 
ferent tale  to  tell  afterwards." 

As  the  day  advanced  the  coast  of  Barbadoes  continually  re- 
ceded, until,  before  sunset,  the  island  lay  like  a  purple  cloud  low 
down  in  the  horizon.  The  northeast  breeze  blew  steadily,  but 
the  sun  caused  a  most  dreadful  heat  in  the  air,  and  our  eyes 
smarted  from  the  glare  of  the  water  and  the  spray  that  was 
blown  upon  us.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Barnaby  constructed 
the  tilt  of  which  I  have  spoken.  The  sea  lay  spread  out  round 
us  in  a  broad  circle  of  which  we  were  the  centre,  and  the  cloud- 
less blue  sky  lay  over  us  like  unto  a  roof  laid  there  for  us  alone. 
It  is  only  in  a  ship  one  doth  feel  thus  alone  in  the  centre  of  crea- 
tion— even  as  if  there  were  nothing  but  the  sea  around,  the  sky 
above,  and  our  boat  in  the  centre.  Thus  must  the  patriarch, 
Noah,  have  felt  when  his  ark  floated  upon  the  vast  face  of  the 
water,  and  even  the  tops  of  the  high  hills  were  hidden  and  cov- 
ered over.  All  day  Barnaby  scanned  the  horizon  anxiously, 
but  there  came  into  sight  no  sail  or  ship  whatever.  To  us,  who 
sometimes  see  the  vessels  lying  in  a  crowded  port  and  hear  how 
they  bring  argosies  from  every  land,  it  seems  as  if  every  part  of 
the  ocean  must  be  covered  with  sails,  driving  before  the  wind 
from  whatever  quarter  it  may  blow.  But  he  who  considers  the 
mappa  mundi  will  presently  discover  that  there  are  vast  expanses 
of  sea  where  never  a  sail  is  seen,  unless  it  be  the  fugitive  sail  of 
the  pirate  or  the  bark  canoe  of  the  native.  We  were  now  ncar- 
ing  such  a  lonely  sea  or  part  of  the  ocean.  Barnaby  knew,  what 
these  planters  did  not,  how  to  steer  across  the  unknown  water  to 
a  port  of  safety  beyond. 

At  midday  our  captain  served  out  another  drink  of  water, 
and  to  Robin  I  gave  a  sop  of  bread  in  Canary,  which  he  seemed 
to  suck  up  and  to  swallow  with  readiness. 

In  such  a  voyage,  where  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  keep 
the  ship  on  her  course  and  to  watch  the  horizon  for  a  strange 
sail,  one  speedily  falls  into  silence,  and  sits  many  hours  without 
speech ;  sometimes  falling  asleep,  lulled  by  the  ripple  of  the 
water  as  the  boat  flies  through  it. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  349 

I  have  said  nothing  about  the  man  John  Nuthall.  He  was  a 
plain,  honest-looking  man,  and  we  found  him,  throughout  all 
this  business,  faithful,  brave,  and  patient,  obedient  to  Barnaby, 
and  of  an  even  temper,  and  contented  with  his  share.  That  he 
had  formerly  been  a  thief  in  his  native  country  cannot  be  denied, 
but  I  hope  that  we  shall  not  deny  to  any  man  the  right  of  re- 
pentance. Barnaby  divided  the  crew — namely,  himself,  John 
Nuthall,  and  me — into  three  watches,  of  eight  hours  each,  of 
which  each  man  kept  two  at  a  stretch.  Thus,  beginning  the 
day  at  noon,  which  was  the  only  time  we  knew  for  certain, 
Barnaby  would  himself — but  this  was  after  the  first  two  days — 
lie  down  and  sleep  till  sunset  or  a  little  later.  Then  John  Nut- 
hall  lay  down  and  took  his  turn  of  sleep  till  Barnaby  thought  it 
was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  he  woke  him  and  I  took 
his  place.  But  for  the  fii:st  day  or  two  Barnaby  slept  Hot  at 
all,  and  the  v/hole  of  the  voyage  he  slept  as  a  good  watch-dog 
sleeps — namely,  with  one  eye  open. 

At  sunset  he  gave  out  another  pannikin  of  cold  water  to  each 
of  us,  a  ration  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  dram  of  wine.  Then 
he  commanded  John  Nuthall  to  lie  down  and  sleep,  while  I  took 
the  tiller,  and  he  himself  held  the  ropes.  Then  the  night  fell 
once  more  upon  us. 

Presently,  while  we  sat  there  in  silence,  Grace  rose  up  from 
her  seat  and  came  aft  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

*'  Humphrey,"  she  whispered,  "  think  you  that  he  is  truly 
dead  ?"     She  was  speaking  not  of  Robin,  but  of  the  master. 

"  I  know  not,  my  dear." 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  but  of  that  man's  sudden  end,  and  of 
what  may  happen  to  us.  Say  something  to  comfort  me,  Hum- 
phrey. You  always  had  some  good  word  to  say — like  manna  for 
refreshment.     My  soul  is  low  in  the  dust.     I  cannot  even  pray." 

"  AVhy,  my  dear,  what  could  I  say  ?  'Tis  true  that  the  man 
was  struck  down,  and  that  suddenly.     And  yet — " 

"To  think  that  my  brother — »that  Barnaby  —  should  have 
killed  him." 

"  Why,"  said  Barnaby,  "  if  some  one  had  to  kill  him,  why  not 
I  as  well  as  another  ?     What  odds  who  killed  him  ?" 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  that  a  man  should  be  called  away  at  such 
a  moment,  when  his  brain  was  reeling  with  wine  and  wicked 
thoughts." 


350  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  He  was  not  dead,"  I  told  lier,  though  I  knew  very  well  what 
would  be  the  end,  "  when  we  came  away.  Many  a  man  recovers 
who  hath  had  a  sword  thrust  through  the  body.  He  may  now 
be  on  the  mend — who  can  tell  ?"  yet  I  knew,  I  say,  very  well 
how  it  must  have  ended.  "  Consider,  my  dear,  he  tempted  the 
wrath  of  God,  if  any  man  ever  did.  If  he  is  destroyed,  on  his 
own  head  be  it,  not  on  ours.  If  he  recover,  he  will  have  had  a 
lesson  which  will  serve  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  If  he  doth 
not  recover,  he  may  have  time  left  him  for  something  of  repent- 
ance and  of  prayer.  Why,  Grace,  if  we  get  safely  to  our  port 
we  ought  to  consider  the  punishment  of  this  sinner,  which  was 
in  self-defence,  as  one  may  truly  say,  the  very  means  granted  by 
Providence  for  our  own  escape.  How  else  should  we  have  got 
away  ?  How  else  should  we  have  resolved  to  venture  all,  even 
to  carrying  Robin  with  us  ?"  All  this,  I  repeat,  I  said  to  encour- 
age her,  because,  if  I  know  aught  of  wounds,  a  man  bleeding 
inwardly  of  a  sword-thrust  through  his  vitals  would  have  short 
time  for  the  collecting  of  his  thoughts  or  the  repentance  of  his 
sins,  being  as  truly  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  them  as  if  he  had 
been  struck  down  by  a  thunderbolt.  A  man  may  groan  and 
writhe  under  the  dreadful  torture  of  such  a  wound,  but  there  is 
little  room  for  meditation  or  for  repentance. 

Then  I  asked  her  if  she  were  in  fear  as  to  the  event  of  the 
voyage. 

"  I  fear  nothing,"  she  told  me,  "  but  to  be  captured  and  taken 
back  to  the  place  whence  we  came,  there  to  be  put  in  prison  and 
flogged.  That  is  my  only  fear.  Humphrey,  we  have  suffered 
so  much  that  this  last  shame  would  be  too  great  for  me  to  bear. 
Oh,  to  be  tied  up  before  all  the  men  and  flogged  like  the  black 
women.     'Twould  kill  me,  Humphrey." 

"Grace," I  said,  very  earnestly,  "  art  thou,  indeed,  brave  enough 
to  endure  death  itself  rather  than  this  last  barbarity  ?" 

"  Oh,  death,  death !"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands,  "  what  is 
death  to  me,  who  have  lost  everything  ?" 

"  Ay,  but  consider,  my  dear.  To  die  at  sea — it  means  to 
sink  down  under  the  cold  water,  out  of  the  light  of  day ;  to 
be  choked  for  want  of  air ;  perhaps  to  be  devoured  quick  by 
sharks ;  to  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the  water,  the  sea-weed  growing 
over  your  bones ;  to  be  rolled  about  by  the  troubled  waves — " 

•'  Humphrey,  these  are  old  wives'  tales.    Why,  if  it  had  been 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  351 

lawful,  I  would  liave  killed  myself  long  ago.  But  I  must  not 
lose  heaven  as  well  as  earth.  A  brief  pang  it  is  to  die,  and  then 
to  be  happy  forever.  What  do  I  care  whether  the  sea-weed 
covers  my  bones  or  the  cold  clay  ?  Oh,  Humphrey,  Humphrey  ! 
why  should  I  care  any  longer  to  live  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  "  if  we  escape  in  safety  there  may  yet  be 
happiness  in  store.  No  man  knoweth  the  future."  She  shook 
her  head.  "  Happiness,"  I  told  her,  "  doth  not  commonly  come 
to  man  in  the  way  which  he  most  desires  and  prays ;  for  if  he 
doth  obtain  the  thing  for  which  he  hath  so  ardently  prayed,  he 
presently  finds  that  the  thing  bringeth  not  the  joy  he  so  much 
expected.  Or  it  comes  too  late,  as  is  the  case  often  with  honors 
and  wealth,  when  one  foot  is  already  in  the  grave.  I  mean,  my 
dear,  that  we  must  not  despair,  because  the  thing  which  most 
we  desired  is  taken  from  us.  Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  desire 
anything  at  all,  except  what  the  Lord  shall  provide.  But  that 
is  a  hard  saying,  and  if  men  desired  nothing,  it  is  certain  that 
they  would  no  longer  work."  I  talked  thus  at  length  to  divert 
her  mind  from  her  troubles.  "  To  thee,  poor  child,"  I  said, 
"  have  been  given  afflictions  many  and  great — the  loss  of  godly 
parents,  a  husband  whom  thou  must  avoid,  and  the  deprivation 
of  earthly  love.  Yet,  since  thou  art  so  brave,  Grace,  I  will  tell 
thee.     I  thought  not  to  tell  thee  anything  of  this — " 

"  What,  Humphrey,  what  ?" 

"  Briefly,  Grace,  thou  shalt  not  be  taken  alive." 

"  How,  unless  you  kill  me  ?" 

"  We  are  agreed,  my  dear,  Barnaby  and  I,  that  if  we  cannot 
escape  any  boats  which  may  pursue  us,  the  boat  shall  be  sunk, 
and  so  we  shall  drown  together.  Indeed,  Grace,  I  confess  that 
I  am  not  myself  so  much  in  love  with  life  as  to  return  to  that 
captivity  and  intolerable  oppression  from  which  we  have  gotten 
away.  Therefore,  be  assured,  we  will  all  drown  rather  than  go 
back." 

"  Oh !"  she  sighed,  heavily,  "  now  shall  I  fear  nothing.  I 
have  not  lost  everything  since  I  have  thee  still — and  Barnaby. 
Alas !  my  head  has  been  so  full  of  what  madam  said — that  we 
should  be  certainly  caught,  and  all  of  us  flogged.  To  be  flogged  ! 
Who  would  not  rather  die  ?"  She  shivered  and  trembled.  "  To 
be  flogged  !  Humphrey,  I  could  not  bear  the  shame."  She  trem- 
bled and  shivered,  at  the  very  thought. 


352  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  Fear  not,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "  there  are  those  on  the  boat  who 
love  thee  too  well  to  suffer  that  extreme  of  barbarity.  Put  that 
fear  out  of  thy  mind.  Think  only  that  we  may  have  to  die,  but 
that  we  shall  not  be  taken.  To  die,  indeed,  is  very  likely  our 
fate,  for  we  have  but  a  quarter  of  an  inch  of  frail  wood  between 
us  and  the  seas.  If  a  storm  should  arise,  we  fill  with  water  and 
go  down ;  if  the  wind  should  drop  we  should  be  becalmed,  and 
so  perish  miserably  of  hunger  and  thirst ;  if  Barnaby  steer  not 
aright — " 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Barnaby,  "  fill  not  her  innocent  head  with 
rubbish.  'Tis  not  the  time  of  tornadoes,  and  there  will  be  no 
storm ;  the  wind  at  this  season  never  drops,  therefore  we  shall 
not  lie  becalmed ;  and  as  for  my  steering  aright,  why,  with  a 
compass —     Am  I  a  lubber  ?" 

"  Brother,"  she  said,  "  if  I  am  not  to  be  flogged  the  rest  con- 
cerns me  little.  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it.  I  am  now  easy 
in  my  mind.  Robin  sleeps,  Humphrey.  He  hath  slept  since 
the  sun  went  down,  and  this  afternoon  he  looked  as  if  he  knew 
me.  Also,  he  took  the  bread  sopped  in  Canary  eagerly,  as  if 
he  relished  it." 

"  These  seas,"  said  Barnaby,  "  are  full  of  sharks,  I  tell  you." 

I  knew  not  what  he  meant,  because  we  were  speaking  of 
Robin. 

"  Sharks  have  got  their  share  of  sense  as  well  as  humans,"  he 
went  on. 

Still  I  understood  him  not. 

"  When  a  man  on  board  a  ship  is  going  to  die  the  sharks  find 
it  out,  and  they  follow  that  ship  until  he  does  die  and  is  flung 
overboard.  Then  they  devour  his  body  and  go  away,  unless 
there  is  more  to  follow.  I  have  looked  for  sharks,  and  there 
are  none  following  the  boat,  wherefore,  though  I  am  not  a  doc- 
tor, I  am  sure  that  Robin  Avill  not  die." 

"  I  know  not  at  all,"  I  said,  "  how  that  may  be.  There  are 
many  things  believed  by  sailors  which  are  superstitions,  fond 
beliefs  nourished  by  the  continual  presence  of  perils.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  senses  of  man  are  notoriously  as  far  below  those 
of  creatures  as  their  intellects  are  above  them,  yet  a  skilful  man 
may  read  the  premonition  of  death  in  a  sick  man's  face.  There- 
fore, I  know  not  but  a  shark  may  have  a  sense  like  unto  the  eye 
of  a  hawk,  or  the  scent  of  a  hound,  with  which  to  sniff  the  ap- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  353 

proach  of  death  afar  off.     Let  us  comfort  ourselves,  Grace,  with 
Barnaby's  assurance." 

"  'Tis  a  well-proved  and  tried  thing,"  said  Barnaby ;  *'  and 
sailors,  let  me  tell  thee,  master  doctor,  have  no  superstitions  or 
idle  beliefs." 

"  Well,  that  may  be.  As  to  Robin's  disease,  I  can  pronounce 
nothing  upon  it.  Nay,  had  I  the  whole  library  of  Padua  to  con- 
sult I  could  learn  nothing  that  would  help  me.  First,  the  mind 
falls  into  a  languishing  and  spiritless  condition.  That  causeth 
the  body  to  lie  open  to  attacks  of  any  disease  which  may  be 
threatening.  Then,  the  body,  being  ill  at  ease,  works  upon  the 
mind,  and  causes  it  to  wander  beyond  control.  So  that  the  soul, 
which  is  bound  up  with  body  and  mind,  cannot  show  herself  or 
manifest  her  will.  It  is  the  will  which  shows  the  presence  of 
the  soul — the  will  which  governs  body  and  mind  alike.  But,  if 
I  know  aught  of  disease,  if  a  change  comes  upon  Robin,  it  will 
either  swiftly  cure  or  swiftly  kill." 

"  Humphrey,"  she  whispered,  "  if  he  recover,  how  shall  1 
meet  his  face  ?  How  shall  I  reply  when  he  asks  me  concerning 
my  faith  ?" 

"  My  dear,  he  knows  all.  'Twas  that  knowledge,  the  pity  of 
it,  and  the  madness  of  it,  believe  me,  which  threw  him  into  so 
low  a  condition." 

"  I  have  looked  daily  for  reproaches  in  thy  kind  eyes,  Hum- 
phrey. I  have  found  none,  truly.  But,  from  Robin.  Oh !  I 
dare  not  think  of  meeting  those  eyes  of  his." 

"  Reproach  thee  will  he  never,  Grace.  Sorrow  and  love,  I 
doubt  not,  will  lie  in  his  eyes  all  his  life.  What  thou  hast  done 
was  for  him  and  for  thy  father  and  thy  brother  and  for  all  of 
us.  But  oh,  the  pity  and  the  villainy  !  Fear  not  to  meet  the 
poor  lad's  eyes,  Grace." 

"  I  long  to  see  the  light  of  reason  in  those  dear  eyes — and  yet 
I  fear.  Humphrey,  I  am  married,  but  against  my  will.  I  am  a 
wife,  and  yet  no  wife.  I  am  resolved  that,  come  what  may,  I 
will  never,  never  go  to  my  husband.  And  I  love  my  Robin  still. 
Oh !"  she  sobbed,  "  I  love  my  Robin  still." 

"  If  we  die,"  I  told  her,  "  you  shall  go  down  with  your  arm 
round  his  neck,  and  so  you  shall  die  together." 

Then  we  sat  silent  awhile. 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  "  lie  down  and  take  some  sleep." 


354  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"  I  cannot  sleep,  Humphrey,  for  tlic  peace  of  mind  wliicli 
liatli  fallen  upon  me.  If  Robin  come  to  liis  senses  again  I  shall 
not  fear  him.  And  the  night,  it  is  so  peaceful — so  cool  and  so 
peaceful."  (The  wind  had  dropped  till  there  was  barely  enough 
to  fill  the  sail,  and  only  enough  way  on  the  boat  to  make  a  soft 
murmur  of  the  water  along  her  sides.)  "  The  sea  is  so  smooth  ; 
the  sky  is  so  bright,  and  so  full  of  stars.  Can  there  be  any- 
where a  peace  like  this  ?  Alas  !  if  we  could  sail  still  upon  a 
silent  and  a  peaceful  ocean.  But  we  must  land  somewhere. 
There  will  be  men ;  and  where  there  are  men  there  is  wicked- 
ness, with  drink  and  wrath  and  evil  passions,  such  as  we  have 
left  behind  us.  Humphrey,  oh,  my  brother  Humphrey,  it  would 
be  sweet  if  the  boat  would  sink  beneath  us  now,  and  so,  with 
Robin's  hand  in  mine,  we  could  all  go  together  to  the  happy 
land  where  there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage." 

From  beneath  the  tilt  there  came  a  voice — I  verily  believe  it 
was  the  answer  sent  straight  from  heaven  to  comfort  this  poor, 
faithful  soul.  "  Grace  " — it  was  the  voice  of  Robin,  in  his  right 
mind  at  last.  "  Grace,"  he  said, "  we  will  continue  to  love  each 
other,  yet  without  sin." 

"  Oh,  Robin,  Robin."  She  moved  quickly  to  his  side  and  fell 
upon  her  knees.     "  Robin,  thou  wilt  recover." 

"  Stay,"  I  interposed.  "  Robin  will  first  have  a  cup  of  cor- 
dial." 

"  I  have  been  sleeping,"  he  said.  "  I  know  not  what  hath 
happened.  We  are  in  a  boat,  it  seems,  and  on  the  open  sea. 
Unless  I  am  still  dreaming,  we  are  slaves  to  a  planter  in  Barba- 
does.  And  this  is  Grace,  who  was  m  England — and  I  know  not 
what  it  means." 

"  You  have  been  ill,  Robin,"  I  told  him.  "  You  have  been 
nigh  unto  death.  Many  things  have  happened  of  which  we  will 
speak,  but  not  now.  Grace  is  at  your  side  and  Barnaby  is  navi- 
gating the  boat.  Drink  this  cup  of  wine — so.  Sleep  now,  and 
in  the  morning,  if  it  please  Heaven,  you  shall  be  so  strong  that 
you  shall  hear  everything.  Ask  no  more  questions,  but  sleep. 
Give  him  your  hand,  Grace." 

She  obeyed  me,  sitting  at  his  side  and  taking  his  hand  in  hers, 
and  so  continued  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  Robin  sleeping  peace- 
fully. 

In  a  word,  he  was  restored.     The  fresh  sea-breeze  brought 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  355 

liim  back  to  life  and  reason ;  and,  thougli  lie  was  still  weak,  lie 
was  now  as  sound  in  his  mind  as  any  man  could  desire  to  be. 
And  in  the  morning  we  told  him  all  that  had  been  done,  where- 
at he  marvelled. 

Grace  might  love  him  still.  That  was  most  true  ;  yet  between 
them  stood  the  man.  ^^^ly,  there  was  another  man  in  the  boat 
who  also  loved  a  girl  he  could  never  wed.  His  passion,  I  swear, 
was  full  of  constancy,  tenderness,  and  patience.  Would  Robin 
be  as  patient  ? 

When  the  day  broke  again  we  were  still  sailing  over  a  lovely 
sea,  with  never  a  sail  in  sight  and  never  a  sign  of  land. 

But  now  Robin  was  sitting  up,  his  faCe  pale  and  his  hands 
thin ;  but  the  light  of  reason  was  in  his  eyes,  and  on  his  lips 
such  a  smile  of  tenderness  as  we  were  wont  to  see  there  in  the 
days  of  old, 

"  Said  I  not,"  cried  Barnaby,  "  that  he  would  recover  ?  Trust 
the  sharks  for  common -sense.  And  again  an  open  sea,  with 
never  a  sail  in  sight.     Praise  the  Lord  therefore." 

But  Grace,  when  the  sun  rose  above  the  waves,  threw  back 
her  hood  and  burst  forth  into  singing : 

"  0  Lord,  how  glorious  is  thy  grace  ! 
And  wondrous  large  thy  love ! 
At  such  a  dreadful  time  and  place 
To  such  as  faithful  prove." 

The  tears  came  into  my  eyes  only  to  see  the  change  that  had 
fallen  upon  her  gracious,  smiling  countenance  ;  it  Avas  not,  truly, 
the  sweet  and  happy  face  that  we  remembered  before  her  troubles 
fell  upon  her,  but  that  face  graver  with  the  knowledge  of  evil  and 
of  pain.  And  now  it  was  like  unto  such  a  face  as  one  may  see 
in  many  an  altar-piece  in  Italy,  glorified  with  gratitude  and  love. 

Then  the  woman  called  Deb  fell  to  weeping  and  blubbering 
for  very  joy  that  her  mistress  looked  happy  again.  'Twas  a 
faithful,  loving  creature. 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Grace,  "  forgive  me  that  I  murmured. 
Things  that  are  done  cannot  be  undone.  Robin  is  restored  to 
us.  With  three  such  brothers,  who  should  not  be  content  to 
live  ?  I  hope,  now,  that  we  shall  get  safely  to  our  port ;  but  if 
we  die,  we  shall  die  contented  in  each  other's  arms.  Going 
through  the  vale  of  misery,"  she  added,  softly,  "  we  will  use  it 
as  a  well." 


356  FOR  FAITU  AND  FREEDOM. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

WE    SAIL    FOR    THE    BAHAMAS. 

■  "  I  TAKE  it,"  said  Barnaby,  on  the  third  morning — the  weather 
continuing  fine  and  the  sea  clear  of  sliips — "  that  we  are  now 
clear  out  of  the  track  of  any  British  vessels.  We  may  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  Spaniard,  but  he  is  mild  and  merciful  of  late, 
compared  with  his  temper  a  hundred  years  ago.  'Tis  true  we 
have  given  him  many  lessons  in  humanity.  We  should  now, 
before  nightfall,  make  the  islands  of  Testigos ;  but  I  think  they 
are  only  rocks  and  sandy  flats,  such  as  they  call  Keys,  where  we 
need  not  land,  seeing  that  we  should  get  nothing  by  so  doing, 
except  to  go  out  of  the  way,  and  so  make  the  rations  shorter. 
Robin  " — 'twas  at  breakfast,  when  he  served  out  a  dram  of  wine 
to  every  one — "  I  drink  to  thy  better  health,  lad.  Thou  hast 
cheated  the  devil —  Nay,  Sis,  look  not  so  angry ;  I  meant, 
thou  wilt  not  go  to  heaven — this  bout.  Up  heart,  then,  and  get 
strong.  We  will  find  thee  another  sweetheart  shall  make  thee 
lift  up  thy  head  again.  What !  is  there  but  one  woman  in  the 
world  r 

"  I  was  saying,  then,"  he  went  on,  "  that  we  shall  presently 
make  the  islands  of  Testigos.  There  followeth  thereafter,  to 
one  who  steereth  west,  a  swarm  of  little  islands.  'Twas  here 
that  the  pirates  used  to  lie  in  the  good  old  days,  snug  and  re- 
tired, with  their  girls  and  their  drink.  Ay,  and  plenty  of  both. 
A  happy  time  they  had  !"  Barnaby  wagged  his  head  and  sighed. 
"  South  of  this  archipelago,  which  I  will  some  day  visit  in  order 
to  search  for  treasure,  there  lieth  the  great  and  mountainous 
island  of  Margaritos.  This  great  island  we  shall  do  well  to  keep 
upon  our  south,  and  so  bear  away  to  the  desert  island  of  Tortu- 
ga,  where  we  shall  find  water  for  certain,  and  that,  I  have  been 
told,  the  best  spring-water  that  flows ;  turtles  we  may  also  find, 
and  fish  we  may  catch ;  and  when  we  have  recovered  our  strength 
with  a  few  days'  rest  ashore  we  will  once  more  put  to  sea,  and 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  357 

make  for  tlic  island  of  Cura^oa  and  the  protection  of  the  Dutch- 
men." 

It  needs  not  to  tell  much  more  about  the  voyage,  in  which  we 
were  favored  by  Heaven  with  everything  that  we  could  desire — 
steady  breeze  from  the  best  quarter,  a  sea  never  too  rough,  pro- 
visions in  sufficiency,  the  absence  of  any  ships,  and,  above  all, 
the  recovery  of  Robin. 

I  say,  then,  that  we  sighted,  and  presently  passed,  the  group 
of  islets  called  the  Testigos ;  that  we  coasted  along  the  great 
island  of  Margaritos,  where  we  landed  not,  because  Barnaby 
feared  that  certain  smoke  which  we  saw  might  betoken  the 
presence  of  the  Spaniard,  whom,  in  spite  of  his  new  character 
for  mildness,  he  was  anxious  to  avoid.  'Tis  strange  thus  to  sail 
along  the  shore  of  a  great  island  whereon  are  no  inhabitants,  or, 
if  any,  a  few  sailors  put  in  for  water,  for  turtle,  and  for  cocoa- 
nuts;  to  see  afar  off  the  forests  climbing  round  the  mountain- 
sides, the  waterfalls  leaping  over  the  precipices,  and  to  think  of 
the  happy  life  one  might  lead  in  such  a  place,  far  from  men  and 
their  ways.  I  confess,  since  my  mistress  will  never  see  this 
page,  that  my  thoughts  for  a  whole  day,  while  we  sailed  along 
the  shores  of  Margaritos,  turned  upon  those  pirates  of  whom 
Barnaby  spoke.  They  lived  here  at  ease  and  in  great  happi- 
ness. 'Tis  of  such  a  life  that  a  man  sometimes  dreams ;  but  if 
he  were  suffered  so  to  lie  in  sloth,  farewell  heaven,  farewell 
future  hopes,  farewell  our  old  talk  of  lifting  the  soul  above  the 
flesh !  Let  us  henceforth  live  the  lives  of  those  who  are  con- 
tent, since  they  can  have  no  more,  with  a  few  years  of  love  and 
wine  and  revelry  !  It  is  in  climates  like  that  of  the  West  Indies 
that  such  a  temptation  seizes  on  men  the  most  strongly,  for 
here  everything  is  made  for  man's  enjoyment.  Here  is  no  cold, 
no  frost,  no  snow  or  ice ;  here  eternal  summer  reigns  and  the 
world  seems  made  for  the  senses  and  for  nothing  else.  Of 
these  confessions  enough.  'Twas  impossible  that  in  such  a  lux- 
urious dream  the  image  of  Grace  could  have  any  part. 

We  landed,  therefore,  on  the  desert  island  of  Tortuga,  where 
we  remained  for  several  days,  hauling  up  our  boat  and  cover- 
ing her  with  branches  to  keep  off  the  sun.  Here  we  lived  lux- 
uriously upon  turtle,  fresh  fish,  the  remains  of  our  bread, 
and  what  was  left  of  our  Canary,  setting  up  huts  in  which  we 
could  sleep,  and  finding  water  of  the  freshest  and  brightest  I 


358  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

ever  saw.  Here  Robin  mended  apace,  and  began  to  walk  about 
with  no  more  help  from  bis  nurses. 

We  were  minded,  as  I  have  said,  to  sail  as  far  as  tbe  island 
of  Cura^oa,  but  an  accident  prevented  this. 

One  day,  when  we  had  been  ashore  for  ten  days  or  there- 
abouts, we  were  terrified  by  the  sight  of  a  small  vessel  rigged 
in  the  fashion  of  a  ketch — that  is,  with  a  small  mizzen — beating 
about  outside  the  bay,  which  is  the  only  port  of  Tortuga. 

"  She  will  put  in  here,"  said  Barnaby  ;  "  that  is  most  certain. 
Now,  from  the  cut  of  her,  she  is  of  New  England  build,  and 
from  the  handling  of  her  she  is  undermanned,  and  I  think  that 
we  have  nothing  to  fear  from  her,  unless  she  is  bound  for  Bar- 
badoes,  or  for  Granada  or  Jamaica." 

Presently  the  vessel  came  to  anchor,  and  a  small  boat  was 
lowered,  into  which  three  men  descended.    They  were  unarmed. 

"  She  is  certainly  from  New  England,"  said  Barnaby.  "  Well, 
they  are  not  from  Barbadoes  in  quest  of  us,  otherwise  they 
would  not  send  ashore  three  unarmed  men  to  capture  four  des- 
perate men.  That  is  certain.  And  as  we  cannot  hide  our  boat, 
though  we  might  hide  ourselves,  I  will  e'en  go  forth  and  parley 
with  these  strangers." 

This  he  did,  we  watching  from  a  safe  place.  The  conversa- 
tion was  long  and  earnest,  and  apparently  friendly.  Presently 
Barnaby  returned  to  us. 

"  There  offers,"  he  said,  "  a  chance  which  is  perhaps  better 
than  to  make  for  Curagoa,  where,  after  all,  we  might  get  scurvy 
treatment.  These  men,  in  a  word,  are  privateers ;  or,  since  we 
are  at  war  with  none,  they  are  pirates.  They  fitted  out  a  brig- 
antine,  or  bilander,  I  know  not  which,  and  designed  to  sail 
round  Cape  Horn,  to  attack  the  Spaniard  on  the  South  Seas. 
On  the  way  they  took  a  prize,  which  you  now  see  in  the  bay. 
Ten  men  were  sent  aboard  to  navigate  her  as  a  tender  to  their 
ship.  But  they  fell  into  bad  weather  off  Brazil,  and  their  ship 
went  down  with  all  hands.  Now  they  are  bound  for  Provi- 
dence, only  seven  hands  left,  and  they  will  take  us  aboard  and 
carry  us  to  that  island  for  our  services.  Truly,  I  think  we 
should  go.  They  have  provisions  in  plenty,  with  Madeira  wine, 
and  Providence  is  too  far  for  the  arm  of  King  James  to  reach. 
What  say  ye  all  ?     Grace,  what  sayest  thou  ?" 

"  Truly,  brother,  I  say  nothing." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  359 

"  Then  we  will  agree,  and  go  with  them." 

We  went  on  board,  taking  with  us  a  good  supply  of  turtle, 
clear  water,  and  coc'oanuts,  being  all  that  the  isle  afforded. 
Honest  fellows  we  found  our  pirates  to  be.  They  belonged  to 
the  island  of  Providence,  in  the  Bahamas,  which  have  long  been 
the  rendezvous  of  English  privateers.  Ten  years  before  this  the 
Spaniards  plucked  up  courage  to  attack  and  destroy  the  settle- 
ment, when  those  who  escaped  destruction  found  shelter  in  some 
of  the  adjacent  islands  or  on  the  mainland  of  Virginia.  Now, 
some  of  them  have  come  back  again,  and  this  settlement,  or  col- 
ony, is  re-established. 

Thither,  therefore,  we  sailed.  It  seemed  as  if  we  were  be- 
come a  mere  shuttlecock  of  fortune,  beaten  and  driven  hither 
and  thither  upon  the  face  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XLVni. 

THE    ISLAND    OF    PROVIDENCE. 


It  was  some  time  in  the  month  of  March,  Anno  Domini  1686, 
that  we  landed  in  Providence.  The  settlement,  from  which  the 
Spaniards  had  now  nothing  to  fear,  then  consisted  (it  is  now,  I 
learn,  much  larger)  of  no  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  peo- 
ple in  all,  the  men  being  all  sailors,  and  ready  to  carry  on  again 
the  old  trade  of  privateer  or  pirate,  as  you  please  to  call  it,  when 
they  should  be  strong  enough  to  buy  or  hire  a  ship  and  to 
equip  her. 

We  stayed  on  the  island  for  two  years  and  a  quarter,  or  there- 
abouts. It  is  one  of  an  archipelago,  for  the  most  part,  I  believe, 
desert.  The  settlement  was,  as  I  have  said,  but  a  small  one, 
living  in  scattered  houses.  There  were  plenty  of  these  to  spare 
(which  had  belonged  to  the  former  settlement),  if  only  one  took 
the  trouble  to  clear  away  the  creeping  plants  and  cut  down  the 
trees  which  had  grown  up  round  them  since  the  Spaniards  came 
and  destroyed  the  colony.  Such  a  house,  built  of  wood,  with 
a  shingle  roof,  we  found  convenient  for  us,  and  after  we  had 
cleared  the  ground  round  about  it,  and  repaired  it,  we  lived  in  it. 
Some  of  the  people  helped  us  to  a  porker  or  two  and  some  chick- 
ens.    They  also  gave  us  some  salt  beef  and  maize  to  start  with. 


360  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

That  we  had  little  money  (only  what  was  left  over  from  the  sale 
of  Grace's  ring)  made  no  difference  to  us  here,  because  no  one 
had  any  at  all,  and  at  this  time  there  was  neither  buying  nor 
selling  on  the  island ;  a  happy  condition  of  things  which  will 
not,  I  take  it,  last  long.  So  great  is  the  fertility  of  the  ground 
here,  and  such  is  the  abundance  which  prevails,  that  we  very 
shortly  found  ourselves  provided  with  all  that  we  wanted  to  make 
life  pleasant.  Work  there  was  for  us,  but  easy  and  pleasant 
work,  such  as  weeding  our  patches  of  vegetables  and  fruit  in 
the  early  mornings,  or  going  to  fish,  or  planting  maize,  or  attend- 
ing to  our  pigs,  poultry,  and  turkeys ;  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
time  sitting  in  the  shade  conversing.  It  is  none  too  hot  in  this 
place,  though  one  would  not,  in  the  summer,  walk  abroad  at 
noon ;  nor  is  it  ever  too  cold.  All  the  fruits  which  flourish  un- 
der the  tropics  grow  here,  with  those  also  which  belong  to  the 
temperate  zone.  Here  are  splendid  forests,  where  you  can  cut 
the  mahogany-tree  and  build  your  house,  if  you  please,  of  that 
lovely  wood.  Here  we  ourselves  grew,  for  our  use,  maize,  to- 
bacco, coffee,  cocoa,  plantains,  pines,  potatoes,  and  many  other 
fruits  and  vegetables. 

Barnaby  soon  grew  tired  of  this  quiet  life,  and  went  on  board 
a  vessel  bound  for  New  England,  promising  that  we  should 
hear  from  him.  After  two  years  we  did  receive  a  letter  from 
him,  as  you  shall  immediately  learn.  When  he  was  gone  we 
carried  on  a  quiet  and  peaceful  life.  Books,  paper,  and  pen 
there  were  none  upon  the  island.  Nor  were  there  any  clothes, 
so  that  the  raggedness  of  our  attire  (we  were  dressed  in  the  sail- 
ors^ clothes  our  friends  the  privateers  gave  us)  became  incredi- 
ble. I  made  some  kind  of  guitar  on  which  we  played,  and  in 
the  evening  we  would  have  very  good  playing  and  singing  to- 
gether of  such  pieces  and  songs  as  we  could  remember.  I  read 
verses,  too,  for  amusement,  and  Grace  learned  them.  We  found 
our  brother-settlers  a  rough  but  honest  folk ;  to  them  we  taught 
many  arts :  how  to  procure  sea-salt,  how  to  make  wine  from 
pineapples,  how  to  cure  the  tobacco-leaf  —  things  which  great- 
ly added  to  their  comfort ;  and  seeing  that  there  was  no  church 
on  the  island,  we  every  Sabbath  had  a  meeting  for  prayer  and 
exhortation. 

Seeing,  then,  that  we  had  all  that  man  could  desire,  with  per- 
fect freedom  from  anxiety,  our  liberty,  a  delightful  climate,  and 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  361 

plenty  to  eat  and  drink — ay,  and  of  the  very  best — and  that  at 
home  there  was  nothing  for  us  but  prison  again,  and  to  be  sent 
back  to  the  place  whence  we  had  escaped,  we  ought,  every  one 
will  acknowledge,  to  have  felt  the  greatest  contentment  and  grat- 
itude for  this  sure  and  quiet  refuge.  We  did  not.  The  only 
contented  members  of  our  household  were  John  Nuthall  and  the 
woman  Deb,  who  cheerfully  cultivated  the  garden  and  fed  the 
poultry  and  pigs  (for  we  had  now  everything  around  us  that  is 
wanting  to  make  life  pleasant).  Yet  we  were  not  contented.  I 
could  read  the  signs  of  impatience  in  the  face  whose  changes  I 
had  studied  for  so  long.  Other  women  would  have  shown  their 
discontent  in  ill-temper  and  a  shrewish  tongue.  Grace  showed 
hers  in  silence,  sitting  apart,  and  communing  with  herself.  I 
dare  say  I  also  showed  my  own  discontent ;  for  I  confess  that  I 
now  began  to  long  vehemently  for  books.  Consider,  it  was  more 
than  two  years  since  I  had  seen  a  book.  There  were  no  books  at 
all  on  the  island  of  Providence ;  not  one  book  except  a  Bible  or 
two,  and  perhaps  a  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  I  longed,  there- 
fore, for  the  smell  of  leather  bindings,  the  sight  of  books  on 
shelves,  and  the  holy  company  of  the  wise  and  the  ingenious. 
No  one,  again,  could  look  upon  Robin  without  perceiving  that 
he  was  afflicted  with  a  constant  yearning  for  that  which  he 
could  not  have.  What  that  was  I  understood  very  well,  although 
he  never  opened  his  mouth  unto  me. 

Now  I  confess  that  at  this  time  I  was  grievously  tormented 
with  the  thought  that  Grace's  marriage,  having  been  no  true 
marriage,  because,  first,  she  was  betrayed  and  deceived,  and, 
next,  she  had  left  her  husband  at  the  very  church  porch,  there 
was  no  reason  in  the  world  why  she  should  not  disregard  that 
ceremony  altogether,  and  contract  a  marriage  after  her  own 
heart.  I  turned  this  over  in  my  mind  a  long  while,  and,  indeed,  I 
am  still  of  the  opinion  that  there  would  have  been  nothing  sinful 
in  such  an  act.  But  the  law  of  the  country  would  not  so  regard 
it.  That  is  quite  true.  If,  therefore,  I  had  advised  these  un- 
happy lovers  in  such  a  sense  they  would  have  been  compelled 
to  live  for  the  rest  of  their  lives  on  this  island,  and  their  off- 
spring would  have  been  illegitimate.  So  that,  though  the  letter 
of  the  law  caused  a  most  cruel  injustice — summuni  jus,  sumrnum 
nefas — it  was  better  that  it  should  be  obeyed.  In  the  end  it  was 
a  most  happy  circumstance  that  it  was  so  obeyed.  ^ 

16 


362  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  have  presently  to  relate  the  means  by  which  this  injustice 
was  removed.  As  for  my  own  share  in  it,  I  shall  neither  exag- 
gerate nor  shall  I  extenuate  it.  I  shall  not  defend  it.  I  shall 
simply  set  it  down,  and  leave  judgment  to  a  higher  court  than 
the  opinion  of  those  who  read  these  pages.  I  must,  however, 
acknowledge  that,  partly  on  Barbadoes  and  partly  on  Providence, 
I  learned  from  the  negresses,  who  possess  many  secrets,  and 
have  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  plants  and  their  powers,  the 
simple  remedies  with  which  they  treat  fevers,  agues,  rheuma- 
tisms, and  other  common  disorders.  I  say  simple,  because  they 
will,  with  a  single  cup  of  liquor,  boiled  with  certain  leaves,  or 
with  a  pinch  of  some  potent  powder  gotten  from  a  plant,  effect 
a  speedier  cure  than  our  longest  prescriptions,  even  though  they 
contain  more  than  fifty  different  ingredients.  Had  I  possessed 
this  knowledge,  for  example,  while  we  lay  in  Exeter  jail,  not  one 
prisoner  (except  the  old  and  feeble)  should  have  died  of  the 
fever.  This  said,  you  will  understand  presently  what  it  was 
I  did. 

It  was,  then,  about  the  month  of  March,  in  the  year  1688, 
that  a  ship,  laden  with  wine,  and  bound  from  New  York  to  Ja- 
maica, put  in  at  the  port  of  Providence.  Her  captain  carried  a 
letter  for  me,  and  this  was  the  first  news  of  the  world  that  came 
to  us  since  our  flight. 

The  letter  was  from  Barnaby.  It  was  short,  because  Barnaby 
had  never  practised  the  art  of  letter-writing,  but  it  was  perti- 
nent. First,  he  told  us  that  he  had  made  the  acquaintance,  at 
Boston  (I  mean  the  little  town  Boston,  of  New  England),  of  his 
cousins,  whom  he  found  to  be  substantial  merchants  (so  that 
here  at  least  the  man  George  Penne  lied  not)  and  zealous  up- 
holders of  the  independent  way  of  thinking ;  that  these  cousins 
had  given  him  a  hearty  welcome  for  the  sake  of  his  father ;  that 
he  had  learned  from  them,  first,  that  the  Monmouth  business 
was  long  since  concluded,  and  so  great  was  the  public  indigna- 
tion against  the  cruelties  of  the  Bloody  Assize  that  no  one  would 
be  again  molested  on  that  account,  not  even  those  who  had  been 
sent  abroad,  should  they  venture  to  return.  He  also  said,  but 
this  we  understood  not,  that  it  was  thought  things  would,  before 
long,  improve. 

"And  now,"  he  continued,  "my  cousins,  finding  that  I  am 
well  skilled,  and  have  already  navigated  a  ship  with  credit,  have 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  363 

made  me  captain  of  their  own  vessel,  the  Pilgrim^  which  sails 
every  year  to  Bristol  and  back  again.  She  will  be  despatched 
in  the  month  of  August  or  September.  Come,  therefore,  by  the 
first  ship  which  will  set  you  ashore  either  at  New  York  or  at 
Boston,  and  I  will  give  you  all  a  passage  home.  Afterwards,  if 
you  find  not  a  welcome  there,  you  may  come  back  with  me. 
Ilere  a  physician  may  find  practice,  Robin  may  find  a  farm,  and 
sister  will  be  safe.     From  B.  E." 

At  this  proposal  we  pricked  up  our  ears,  as  you  may  very 
well  believe.  Finally,  we  resolved  to  agree  to  it,  promising  each 
other  to  protect  Grace  from  her  husband  and  to  go  back  to  Bos- 
ton with  Barnaby  if  we  found  no  reason  to  stay  in  England. 
But  the  woman  called  Deb,  though  she  wept  at  leaving  her  mis- 
tress, would  not  go  back  to  the  place  where  her  past  wick- 
edness might  be  remembered,  and  as  John  Nuthall  was  also  un- 
willing, for  the  same  reason,  to  return,  and  as  this  honest  couple 
had  now  a  kindness  for  each  other,  I  advised  them  to  marry, 
and  remain  where  they  were.  There  was  on  the  island  no  min- 
ister of  religion,  nor  any  magistrate  or  form  of  government  what- 
ever (yet  all  were  honest),  therefore  I  ventured  to  hear  their 
vows  of  fidelity,  and  prayed  with  them  while  I  joined  their 
hands — a  form  of  marriage,  to  my  mind,  as  binding  and  as  sa- 
cred as  any  wanting  the  assistance  of  a  priest.  So  we  handed 
over  to  them  all  our  property  (which  was  already  as  much  theirs 
as  ours),  and  left  them  in  that  sunny  and  delightful  place.  If 
the  man  was  a  repentant  thief,  the  woman  was  a  repentant  Mag- 
dalen, and  so  they  were  well  matched.  I  hope  and  believe  that, 
being  well  resolved  for  the  future,  they  Avill  lead  a  godly  and 
virtuous  life,  and  will  be  blessed  with  children  who  will  never 
learn  the  reason  why  their  parents  left  their  native  country. 

There  is  little  trade  at  Providence,  but  many  vessels  touch  at  the 
port,  because  it  lies  between  the  English  possessions  in  America 
and  those  in  the  West  Indies.  They  put  in  for  water,  for  fruit, 
and  sometimes,  if  they  are  short-handed,  for  men,  most  of  them 
in  the  place  being  sailors.  Therefore  we  had  not  to  wait  long 
before  a  vessel  put  in  bound  from  Jamaica  to  New  York.  We 
bargained  with  the  captain  for  a  passage,  agreeing  that  he  should 
find  us  provisions  and  wine,  and  that  we  would  pay  him  (by 
means  of  Barnaby)  on  our  reaching  Boston  (which  is  but  a 
short  distance  from  New  York).     Strange  to  say,  though  we 


364  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM, 

had  been  discontented  with  our  lot,  when  we  sailed  away  Grace 
fell  to  weeping.  We  had  murmured,  and  our  murmuring  was 
heard.  We  shall  now  live  out  what  is  left  to  us  in  England,  and 
we  shall  die  and  be  buried  among  our  own  folk.  Yet  there  are 
times  when  I  remember  the  sweet  and  tranquil  life  we  led  in  the 
island  of  Providence,  its  soft  and  sunny  air,  the  cool  sea-breeze, 
the  shade  of  its  orange-groves,  and  the  fruits  which  grew  in 
such  abundance  to  our  hands. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

HOME. 


In  one  thing  alone  the  villain  Penne  spoke  the  truth.  The 
Eykin  family  of  Boston  (I  say  again  of  New  England)  was  one 
of  the  most  considerable  in  the  place,  great  sticklers  for  free- 
dom and  for  religion  (but,  indeed,  it  is  a  most  God-fearing  town, 
and  severe  towards  transgressors).  They  received  us  with  so 
much  kindness  that  nothing  could  surpass  it ;  we  were  treated 
as  Christian  martyrs  at  the  least,  and  towards  Grace,  of  whose 
cruel  lot  they  had  heard  from  Barnaby,  they  showed  (but  that 
no  one  could  help)  an  affection  quite  uncommon.  They  gener- 
ously furnished  us  all  with  apparel  becoming  our  station,  and 
with  money  for  our  daily  occasions ;  they  approved  of  our  go- 
ing with  Barnaby,  but  in  the  event  of  our  finding  no  welcome, 
or  means  of  livelihood  at  home,  and  if  Grace  should  be  mo- 
lested by  her  husband,  they  engaged  us  to  return  to  New  Eng- 
land. Here,  they  said,  Robin  might  become  a  farmer,  if  he  had 
no  inclination  for  trade  ;  they  would  joyfully  receive  Grace  to 
live  with  them ;  and  I  myself  would  certainly  find  practice  as  a 
physician,  while  Barnaby  should  continue  to  command  their 
ship.  When  I  considered  the  many  conveniences  which  exist 
in  Boston  (it  is  already,  though  young,  better  provided  with 
everything  than  Barbadoes),  the  excellence  of  the  climate,  the 
books  which  are  there,  the  printing-press  which  hath  already 
been  established,  the  learned  ministers,  the  college,  the  schools, 
and  the  freedom  of  religion,  I  should  have  been  nothing  loath  to 
remain  there.  But  I  was  constrained  first  to  go  home.  I  found 
also,  which  astonished  me,  so  great  a  love  of  liberty  that  the 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  365 

people  speak  slightingly  of  the  English  at  home  who  tamely 
suffer  the  disabilities  of  the  Nonconformists  and  the  prerogative 
of  the  crown,  and  they  ask  why,  when  the  country  had  succeeded 
in  establishing  a  commonwealth,  they  could  not  keep  it.  It 
certainly  cannot  be  denied,  as  they  argue,  that  Israel  acted 
against  the  will  of  the  Lord  in  seeking  a  king. 

So  we  left  them.  But  in  how  changed  a  condition  did  we 
now  cross  the  ocean.  Instead  of  huddling  in  a  noisome  and 
stinking  dungeon,  unclean  for  want  of  water,  ill  fed,  and  with 
no  change  of  raiment,  we  had  now  comfortable  cabins,  clothes 
such  as  become  a  gentleman,  and  food  of  the  best.  And  Bar- 
naby,  who  had  then  sat  humbly  in  the  waist,  where  the  prison- 
ers were  confined,  now  walked  the  quarter-deck,  a  laced  kerchief 
round  his  neck,  lace  ruffles  at  his  wrist,  a  scarlet  coat,  a  sword 
at  his  side,  and  gold  lace  in  his  hat,  the  captain  of  the  ship. 

The  winds  were  contrary,  and  it  was  not  until  the  last  days  of 
October  that  we  arrived  at  Bristol.  Here  we  lay  for  a  few  days 
while  Barnaby  transacted  his  business,  resolving  to  remain  in 
retirement,  for  fear  of  accidents,  until  our  captain  should  be 
ready  to  ride  with  us  to  Bradford  Orcas. 

The  first  news  we  learned  was  joyful  indeed.  It  was  that 
the  Prince  of  Orange  himself  was  about  to  invade  England,  with 
intent  to  drive  his  father-in-law  from  the  throne.  (He  had,  in- 
deed, already  sailed,  but  his  fleet  was  driven  back  by  a  storm.) 
It  was  also  stated  that  he  had  with  him  a  great  army  of  Dutch 
and  English,  and  such  preparations  of  arms  and  ammunition  as 
(it  was  hoped)  would  make  such  a  failure  as  that  of  our  un- 
happy duke  impossible. 

We  also  confirmed  Barnaby's  information  that  Monmouth's 
men  could  now  go  about  without  fear  or  molestation.  As  to  the 
position  of  affairs  at  Bradford  Orcas,  we  could  learn  nothing. 

There  was  one  point  in  which  I  was  curious :  namely,  as  to 

what  Barnaby  would  do  in  the  matter  of  the  villain  Penne.     On 

j  the  one  hand  it  was  certain  that  Barnaby  would  not  forget  this 

man,  nor  was  he  likely  to  sit  down  with  his  arms  folded  after 

he  had  been  robbed  of  so  great  a  sum. 

Therefore,  I  was  not  surprised  when,  the  evening  before  we 
rode  out  of  Bristol,  he  brought  a  big  bag  of  blue  stuff  in  his 
hands  and  poured  out  the  contents,  a  vast  shower  of  gold 
pieces,  into  the  lap  of  his  astonished  sister. 


366  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

"Grace,"  lie  said,  "  I  bring  you  back  your  money.  You  will 
find  it  all  here,  and  Mr,  Boscorel's  money  to  boot.  He  hath 
disgorged." 

With  that  he  sat  down  and  laughed,  but  as  one  who  hath  a 
joke  in  secret,  and  would  tell  us  no  more. 

For  a  day  or  two  after  this  he  would  (on  the  road  to  Brad- 
ford Orcas)  begin  to  laugh  at  intervals,  rolling  about  in  his  sad- 
dle, shaking  his  sides,  choking  with  laughter,  insomuch  that  I 
presently  lost  patience  with  him,  and,  as  a  physician,  ordered 
him  instantly  to  make  full  confidence,  or  I  would  not  answer 
for  it  but  he  would  have  a  fit. 

Then  he  told  us  what  he  had  done. 

Towards  five  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  winter  day  is  ended, 
he  repaired  to  the  man  Penne's  counting-house,  a  place  easily 
found  on  inquiry,  having  with  him  one  of  those  fellows  who 
bawl  at  fairs,  selling  medicines  and  charms,  drawing  teeth,  let- 
ting blood,  and  so  forth.  At  the  sight  of  a  sea-captain,  many 
of  whom  came  to  this  place,  the  worthy  merchant's  servant  with- 
out suspicion  opened  the  door  of  his  private  office,  or  chamber, 
where  Mr.  Penne  transacted  his  affairs.  Barnaby  found  him 
dozing  by  the  fire,  his  wig  on  the  table,  a  silk  handkerchief  over 
his  head,  and  the  candles  already  lighted. 

He  awoke,  however,  on  the  opening  of  the  door. 

"  Friend,"  said  Barnaby,  "  I  am  Captain  Barnaby  Eykin,  com- 
manding the  ship  Pilgrim  from  Boston,  at  your  service.  I  am 
also  brother  to  the  young  woman,  Grace  Eykin,  whom  you  robbed 
('twas  my  money)  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  after- 
wards kidnapped." 

Mr.  Penne  looked  about  him  and  would  have  cried  out  for 
assistance  ;  but  Barnaby  clapped  a  pistol  to  his  forehead.  Then 
he  sank  in  his  chair  and  gasped. 

"  Stir  not,"  said  his  enemy.  "  I  am  also  one  of  the  three 
rebels  for  whose  ransom  the  Reverend  Philip  Boscorel,  Rector 
of  Bradford  Orcas,  paid  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and  ten 
pounds — which  you  have  also  stolen." 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Penne,  "  upon  my  honor  those  moneys  were 
sent  to  Barbadoes.     Upon  my  honor,  sir." 

"  You  will  therefore,"  said  Barnaby,  taking  no  heed  of  this 
assurance, "  pay  over  to  me  the  sum  of  four  hundred  and  sixty 
pounds  with  interest  at  five  per  cent  for  three  years,  which  I 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  367 

have  calculated.  The  whole  amount  is  five  hundred  and  twenty- 
nine  pounds.  Begin  by  paying  this."  Well,  to  make  a  long 
story  short,  though  the  man  protested  that  he  had  not  so  much 
in  the  world,  yet  he  presently  opened  his  strong  box  and  counted 
out  the  money,  all  in  gold.     This  done  he  hoped  to  be  let  off. 

"  There  now  remains,"  said  Barnaby,  "  the  punishment.  And 
I  forgot  sister's  ring.  I  ought  to  have  added  fifty  pounds  for 
that ;  but  time  presses.  Perhaps  I  shall  come  back ;  I  did  in- 
tend to  kill  thee,  brother,  for  thy  great  villainy.     However — " 

He  then  beckoned  the  man  with  him,  who  lugged  out  of  his 
pocket  an  instrument  which  made  Mr.  Penne  shake  and  quake 
with  terror.  Barnaby  then  informed  his  victim  that  as  he  had 
been  the  means  of  inflicting  grievous  bodily  suffering  upon  four 
undeserving  people,  it  was  meet  and  right  that  he  himself  should 
experience  something  which,  by  its  present  agony,  should  make 
him  compassionate  for  the  future,  and  by  its  permanence  of  in- 
jury should  prevent  his  ever  forgetting  that  compassion  for  the 
rest  of  his  life. 

He  therefore,  he  told  him,  intended  to  draw  from  his  head 
four  of  his  stoutest  and  strongest  grinders. 

This,  in  a  word,  he  did,  the  man  with  him  dragging  them 
out  with  the  pincers,  Barnaby  holding  the  pistol  to  the  poor 
wretch's  head,  so  that  he  should  not  bellow  and  call  for  assist- 
ance. 

His  laughter  was  caused  by  the  remembrance  of  the  twisting 
of  the  man's  features  in  this  agony  and  by  his  meanings  and 
groanings.  The  grinders  he  had  brought  away  with  him  in  his 
pocket,  and  showed  them  in  triumph. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  rode  into  Bradford 
Orcas.  The  wintry  sun,  now  setting,  lay  upon  the  woods,  yel- 
low and  red  with  the  autumn  leaves  not  yet  fallen.  As  we 
neared  the  village  the  sun  went  down  and  a  mist  be^an  to  rise. 
The  doors  were  closed  and  no  one  looked  forth  to  greet  us  ;  the 
old  cottage  where  Grace  was  born  and  lived  so  long  was  empty 
still ;  the  door  was  open,  the  shutter  hung  upon  one  hinge  ;  the 
honey  hives  were  overturned,  the  thatch  was  broken,  the  garden 
was  neglected. 

"  Why,  Sis,"  said  Barnaby,  "  thy  mother  is  not  there,  nor  dad ; 
is  he  ?     Poor  old  dad  !" 

We  rode  up  the  village  till  we  came  to  the  church  and  the 


368  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

manor-house  beside  it.  Alas !  the  house  itself  was  closed,  which 
had  formerly  stood  open  to  all.  There  was  no  smoke  from  its 
chimneys,  and  the  grass  grew  in  the  courtyard.  We  dismounted 
and  opened  the  door,  which  was  not  locked.  We  went  into  the 
house ;  all  was  cold,  was  empty,  and  deserted.  The  twilight 
falling  outside  made  the  rooms  dark.  Beside  the  fireplace 
stood  Sir  Christopher's  great  chair,  empty ;  his  tankard  was  on 
the  table,  and  his  tobacco,  pipe,  and — strange — lay  forgotten, 
the  unhappy  duke's  proclamation. 

Then  a  truly  wonderful  thing  happened.  Barnaby  says  that 
I  must  have  dreamed  it,  for  he  saw  nothing.  Suddenly  Sir 
Christopher  appeared  sitting  in  the  chair ;  on  his  knees  lay  the 
Bible,  open.  Beside  him  stood  with  upraised  forefinger,  as  if 
commenting  on  some  knotty  point,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Comfort  Eykin. 
I  declare  that  I  saw  them  plainly,  as  plainly  as  I  now  behold 
the  paper  on  which  I  write.  They  were  but  as  shadows  in  the 
dark,  shadows  of  the  empty  room,  and  they  appeared  but  for  a 
moment  and  then  vanished,  and  I  saw  them  no  more. 

"  Come  to  the  rectory,"  said  Robin.    "  It  chokes  us  to  be  here." 

"  Listen,"  said  Grace,  outside  the  house. 

From  the  rectory  there  came  the  sound  of  a  violoncello. 
Then  was  the  good  rector  himself  there,  comforting  his  soul. 

We  opened  the  garden  gate  and  walked  softly  across  the 
lawn  and  looked  in  at  the  window  ;  'twas  made  after  the  foreign 
fashion,  to  open  upon  the  lawn.  Beside  the  fire  sat  madam,  her 
hands  clasped,  thin,  pale,  and  prematurely  aged.  Thus  had  she 
sat  for  three  long  years,  still  waiting  for  news  of  her  son. 

The  rector  laid  down  his  bow,  crossed  the  room,  and  sat  down 
to  the  spinnet,  on  which  he  played  prettily,  but  not  with  such 
command  as  he  possessed  over  the  other  instrument.  lie 
played — I  caught  Grace's  hand — an  air  of  my  own  making,  to 
which  I  had  set  certain  words,  also  of  my  own. 

Then,  while  he  played,  we  began  to  sing  outside  the  window, 
Grace  singing  treble,  or  first,  and  I  the  second  part,  the  words  of 
that  little  song.  We  sang  it  ^mno,  or  softly,  at  first,  and  then 
crescendo,  or  louder : 

"As  rides  the  moon  in  azure  skies 
The  twinkhng  stars  beside ; 
As  when  in  splendor  she  doth  rise, 
The  lesser  lights  they  hide. 


77it  //(///(  icitlt  luni  ilragging  his  teeth  out  icith  the  pincers,  Barnaby 
Iwlding  the  pistol  to  tfie  poor  wretch's  head." 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  369 

So  beside  Celia,  when  her  face  we  see, 
All  unregarded  other  maidens  be." 

When  we  began,  softly  as  I  said,  the  rector  looked  round  him, 
playing  still  and  listening.  He  thought  the  voices  were  in  his 
own  brain,  echoes  or  memories  of  the  past.  Madam  heard  them, 
too,  and  sat  up,  listening  as  one  who  listens  in  a  dream.  When 
we  sang  louder,  madam  sprang  to  her  feet  and  held  out  her 
arms,  but  the  rector  played  the  verse  quite  through.  Then  he 
opened  the  window  for  us. 

"  My  son,  my  son  !"  cried  madam. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE    GREAT    LORD    CHANCELLOR. 


But  the  Prince  of  Orange  had  already  landed. 

We  learned  this  news  next  day,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  we 
were  in  the  saddle  again  and  riding  to  Exeter,  there  to  join 
his  standard. 

This  we  did  with  the  full  consent  of  madam  and  of  Grace  ; 
much  as  we  had  suffered  already,  they  would  not  deter  us,  be- 
cause this  thing  would  have  been  approved  by  Sir  Christopher 
and  Dr.  Eykin.     Therefore  we  went. 

My  second  campaign,  as  everybody  knows,  was  bloodless. 
To  begin  with,  we  had  an  army,  not  of  raw  country  lads  armed 
indifferently  and  untrained,  but  of  veteran  troops,  fifteen  thou- 
sand strong,  all  well  equipped,  and  with  the  best  general  in  Eu- 
rope at  their  head.  At  first,  indeed,  such  was  the  dread  in 
men's  minds  caused  by  Lord  Jeffrey's  cruelties,  few  came  in  ; 
yet  this  was  presently  made  up  by  what  followed,  when,  with- 
out any  fighting  at  all,  the  king's  regiments  melted  away,  his 
priests  fled,  and  his  friends  deserted  him.  This  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent business  from  that  other,  when  we  followed  one  whom  I 
now  know  to  have  been  a  mere  tinsel  pretender,  no  better  fitted 
to  be  a  king  than  a  vagabond  actor  at  a  fair  is  fit  to  be  a  lord. 
Alas  !  what  blood  was  wasted  in  that  mad  attempt,  of  which  I 
was  myself  one  of  the  most  eager  promoters  !  I  was  then  young, 
and  I  believed  all  that  I  was  told  by  the  conspirators  in  Hol- 
land ;  I  took  their  list  of  well-wishers  for  insurgents  already 
16*  *  Aa 


370  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

armed  and  waiting  only  for  a  signal ;  I  thought  the  roll  of  no- 
ble names  set  down  for  sturdy  Protestants  as  that  of  men  al- 
ready pledged  to  the  cause ;  I  believed  that  the  whole  nation 
would  rise  at  the  first  opportunity  to  turn  out  the  priests ;  I 
even  believed  in  the  legitimacy  of  the  duke,  and  that  against 
the  express  statement  of  his  father  (if  King  Charles  was  in 
reality  his  father),  and  I  believed  what  they  told  me  of  his 
princely  virtues,  his  knowledge  of  the  art  of  war,  and  his  heroic 
valor.  I  say  that  I  believed  all  these  things,  and  that  I  became 
a  willing  and  zealous  tool  in  their  hands.  As  for  what  those 
who  planned  the  expedition  believed,  I  know  not ;  nor  will  any 
one  now  ever  learn  what  promises  were  made  to  the  duke,  what 
were  broken,  and  why  he  was,  from  the  outset,  save  for  a  few 
days  at  Taunton,  so  dejected  and  disappointed.  As  for  me,  I 
shall  always  believe  that  the  unhappy  man,  unwise  and  soft- 
hearted, was  betrayed  by  those  whom  he  trusted. 

It  is  now  an  old  tale,  though  King  Monmouth  will  not  speed- 
ily be  forgotten  in  the  AVest  Country,  nor  will  the  memory  of 
the  Bloody  Assize.  The  brave  lads  who  followed  him  are  dead 
and  buried,  some  in  unhonored  graves  hard  by  the  place  where 
they  were  hanged ;  some  under  the  burning  sun  of  the  West 
Indies ;  the  duke  himself  hath  long  since  paid  the  penalty  of 
his  rash  attempt.  All  is  over  and  ended,  except  the  memory 
of  it. 

It  is  now  common  history,  known  to  everybody,  how  the  Prince 
of  Orange  lingered  in  the  West  Country,  his  army  inactive,  as 
if  he  knew  (doubtless  he  was  well  informed  upon  this  particu- 
lar) that  the  longer  he  remained  idle,  the  more  likely  was  the 
king's  cause  to  fall  to  pieces.  There  are  some  who  think  that 
if  King  James  had  risked  an  action  he  could  not  but  have  gained, 
whatsoever  its  event;  I  mean  that,  the  blood  of  his  soldiers 
once  roused,  they  would  have  remained  steadfast  to  him  and 
would  have  fought  for  him.  But  this  he  dared  not  to  risk, 
wherefore  the  prince  did  nothing,  while  the  king's  regiments 
fell  to  pieces,  and  his  friends  deserted  him.  It  was  in  Decem- 
ber when  the  prince  came  to  Windsor,  and  I  with  him,  once 
more  chirurgeon  in  a  rebel  army.  While  there  I  rode  to 
London,  partly  with  the  intention  of  judging  for  myself  on  the 
temper  of  this  people,  partly  because,  after  so  long  an  absence, 
I  wished  once  more  to  visit  a  place  where  there  are  books  and 


yOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  371 

pictures,  and  partly  because  there  were  certain  roots  and  lierbs 
whicli  I  desired  to  communicate  to  the  college  of  physicians  in 
Warwick  Lane.  It  happened  to  be  the  very  day  when  the 
king's  first  flight — that,  namely,  when  he  was  taken  in  the  Isle 
of  Sheppey — became  known.  The  streets  in  the  city  of  London 
I  found  crowded  with  people  hurrying  to  and  fro,  running  in 
bands  and  companies,  shouting  and  crying  as  if  in  the  presence 
of  some  great  and  imminent  danger.  It  was  reported,  and  cur- 
rently believed,  that  the  disbanded  Irish  soldiers  had  begun  to 
massacre  the  Protestants.  There  was  no  truth  at  all  in  the  re- 
port, but  yet  the  bells  were  ringing  from  all  the  towers,  the 
crowds  were  exhorting  each  other  to  tear  down  and  destroy  the 
Romish  chapels,  to  hunt  for  and  to  hang  the  priests,  and  espe- 
cially Jesuits  (I  know  not  whether  they  found  any),  and  to  shout 
for  the  Prince  of  Orange.  I  stood  aside  to  let  the  crowds  (thus 
religiously  disposed)  run  past,  but  there  seemed  no  end  to  them. 
Presently,  however  (this  was  in  the  front  of  the  new  Royal  Ex- 
change), there  drew  near  another  kind  of  crowd.  There  marched 
six  or  eight  sturdy  fellows  bearing  stout  cudgels  and  hauling 
along  a  prisoner.  Round  them  there  ran  shrieking,  hooting,  and 
cursing  a  mob  of  a  hundred  men  and  more ;  they  continually 
made  attacks  upon  the  guard,  fighting  them  with  sticks  and 
fists,  but  they  were  always  thrust  back.  I  thought  at  first  that 
they  had  caught  some  poor  wretched  priest  whom  they  desired 
to  murder.  But  it  proved  to  be  a  prize  worth  man}'  priests. 
As  they  drew  nearer,  I  discerned  the  prisoner.  He  was  dressed 
in  the  garb  of  a  common  sailor,  with  short  petticoats  (what  they 
call  slops)  and  a  jacket ;  his  cap  had  been  torn  off,  leaving  the 
bare  skull,  which  showed  that  he  was  no  sailor  (because  common 
sailors  do  not  wear  wigs)  ;  blood  was  flowing  down  his  cheek 
from  a  fresh  wound ;  his  eyes  rolled  hither  and  thither  in  an 
extremity  of  terror ;  I  could  not  hear  what  he  said,  for  the  shout- 
ing of  those  around  him,  but  his  lips  moved,  and  I  think  he  was 
praying  his  guards  to  close  in  and  to  protect  him.  Never,  sure- 
ly, was  seen  a  more  terror-stricken  creature. 

I  knew  his  face.  Once  seen  (I  had  seen  it  once)  it  could 
never  be  forgotten.  The  red  and  bloated  cheeks  which  even  his 
fear  could  not  make  pale ;  the  eyes,  more  terrible  than  have 
been  given  to  any  other  human  creature,  these  I  could  not  for- 
get ;  m  dreams  I  see  them  still.     I  saw  that  face  at  Exeter, 


372  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

when  the  cruel  judge  exulted  over  our  misery,  and  rejoiced  over 
the  sentence  which  he  pronounced.  Yea,  he  laughed  when  he 
told  us  how  we  should  swing,  but  not  till  we  were  dead,  and 
then  the  knife — delivering  his  sentence  so  that  no  single  point 
of  its  horror  should  be  lost  to  us.  Yes;  it  was  the  face  of 
Judge  Jciireys — none  other — this  abject  wretch  was  that  great 
judge.  Why,  when  we  went  back  to  our  prison,  there  were 
some  who  cast  themselves  upon  the  ground,  and  for  terror  of 
what  was  to  come  fell  into  a  mere  dementia.  And  now  I  saw 
him  thus  humbled,  thus  disgraced,  thus  threatened,  thus  in  the 
last  extremity  and  agony  of  terror. 

They  had  discovered  him  thus  disguised  and  in  hiding  at  a 
tavern  in  Wapping,  and  were  dragging  him  to  the  presence  of 
the  lord  mayor.  It  is  a  long  distance  from  Wapping  to  Guild- 
hall, and  they  went  but  slowly,  because  they  were  beset  and 
surrounded  by  these  wolves  who  howled  to  have  his  blood.  And 
all  the  way  he  shrieked  and  trembled  for  fear  ! 

Sure  and  certain  is  the  vengeance  of  the  Lord  ! 

This  Haman,  this  unjust  judge,  was  thus  suffering,  at  the 
hands  of  the  savage  mob,  pangs  far  worse  than  those  endured 
by  the  poor  rustics  whom  he  had  delivered  to  the  executioner. 
I  say  worse,  because  I  have  not  only  read,  but  have  myself 
proved,  that  the  rich  and  the  learned,  those,  that  is,  who  live 
luxuriously,  and  those  who  have  power  to  imagine  and  to  feel 
beforehand,  do  suffer  far  more  in  disease  than  the  common  ig- 
norant folk.  The  scholar  dies  of  terror  before  ever  he  feels  the 
surgeon's  knife,  while  the  rustic  bares  his  limb,  insensible  and 
callous,  however  deep  the  cut,  or  keen  the  pain.  I  make  no 
doubt,  therefore,  that  the  great  lord  chancellor,  while  they 
haled  all  the  way  from  Wapping  to  Guildhall,  suffered  as  much 
as  fifty  ploughboys  flogged  at  the  cart-tail. 

Many  thousands  there  were  who  desired  revenge  upon  him. 
I  know  not  what  revenge  would  satisfy  the  implacable,  because 
revenge  can  do  no  more  than  kill  the  body ;  but  his  worst  ene- 
my should  be  satisfied  with  this  his  dreadful  fate.  Even  Bar- 
naby,  who  was  sad  because  he  could  get  no  revenge  on  his  own 
account  (he  wanted  a  bloody  battle,  with  the  rout  of  the  king's 
armies,  and  the  pursuit  of  a  flying  enemy,  such  as  had  happened 
at  Sedgemoor),  was  satisfied  with  the  justice  which  was  done 
to  that  miserable  man.     It  is  wonderful  that  he  was  not  killed 


FOR    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  373 

amidst  so  many  threatening  cudgels  ;  but  Lis  guards  prevented 
that,  not  from  any  love  they  bare  him,  but  quite  the  contrary 
(more  unforgiving  faces  one  never  saw) ;  for  they  intended  to 
hand  him  over  to  the  lord  mayor,  and  that  he  should  be  tried 
for  all  his  cruelties  and  treacheries,  and  perhaps  experience  him- 
self that  punishment  of  hanging  and  disembowelling  which  he 
had  inflicted  on  so  many  ignorant  and  misled  men. 

How  he  was  committed  to  the  Tower,  where  he  shortly 
died  in  the  greatest  torture  of  body  as  well  as  mind,  everybody 
knows. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

THE     CONFESSION. 


Now  I  am  come  to  the  last  event  of  this  history,  and  I  have 
to  write  down  the  confession  of  my  own  share  in  that  event. 
For  the  others — for  Grace  and  for  Robin — the  thing  must  be 
considered  as  the  crown  and  completion  of  all  the  mercies.  For 
me — what  is  it?  But  you  shall  hear.  When  the  secrets  of 
all  hearts  are  laid  open,  then  will  Grace  hear  it  also;  what  she 
will  then  say,  or  what  think,  I  know  not.  It  was  done  for  her 
sake ;  for  her  happiness  have  I  laid  this  guilt  upon  my  soul. 
Nay,  when  the  voice  of  conscience  doth  exhort  me  to  repent,  and 
to  confess  my  sin,  then  there  still  ariseth  within  my  soul,  as  it 
were,  the  strain  of  a  joyful  hymn,  a  song  of  gratitude  that  I  was 
enabled  to  return  her  to  freedom  and  the  arms  of  the  man  she 
loved.  If  any  learned  doctor  of  divinity,  or  any  versed  in  that 
science  which  the  Romanists  love  (they  call  it  casuistry),  should 
happen  to  read  this  chapter  of  confession,  I  pray  that  they  con- 
sider my  case,  even  though  it  will  then  be  useless  as  far  as  I 
myself  am  concerned,  seeing  that  I  shall  be  gone  before  a  judge 
who  will,  I  hope — even  though  my  earthly  affections  do  not  suf- 
fer me  to  separate  my  sin  from  the  consequences  which  followed 
— be  more  merciful  than  I  have  deserved. 

While,  then,  I  stood  watching  this  signal  example  of  God's 
wrath,  I  was  plucked  gently  by  the  sleeve,  and  turning,  saw  one 
whose  countenance  I  knew  not.  He  was  dressed  as  a  lawyer, 
but  his  gown  was  ragged  and  his  bands  yellow.    He  looked  sunk 


374  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

in  poverty,  and  his  face  was  inflated  with  those  signs  which  pro- 
claim aloud  the  habit  of  immoderate  drinking, 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  if  I  mistake  not,  you  are  Dr.  Humphrey 
Challis." 

"  The  same,  sir,  at  your  service,"  I  replied,  with  some  misgiv- 
ings ;  and  yet,  being  one  of  the  prince's  following,  there  needed 
none. 

"  I  have  seen  you,  sir,  in  the  chambers  of  your  cousin,  Mr. 
Benjamin  Boscorel,  my  brother  learned  in  the  law.  We  drank 
together,  though,  I  remember,  you  still  passed  the  bottle.  It  is 
now  four  or  five  years  ago ;  I  wonder  not  that  you  have  forgot- 
ten me.  We  change  quickly,  we  who  are  the  jolly  companions 
of  the  bottle ;  we  drink  our  noses  red,  and  we  paint  our  cheeks 
purple.  Nay,  we  drink  ourselves  out  of  our  last  guinea  and  our 
very  apparel.  What  then,  sir  ?  A  short  life  and  a  merry.  Sir, 
yonder  is  a  sorry  sight.  The  first  law  officer  of  the  crown  thus 
to  be  hauled  along  the  street  by  a  howling  mob.  Ought  such  a 
thing  to  be  suffered  ?     'Tis  a  sad  and  sorry  sight,  I  say." 

"  Sir,"  I  replied,  hotly,  "  ought  such  villains  as  Judge  Jef- 
freys to  be  suffered  to  live  ?" 

He  considered  a  little,  as  one  who  is  astonished  and  desires 
to  collect  his  thoughts.  Perhaps  he  had  already  taken  more 
than  a  morning  draught. 

"  I  remember  now,"  he  said.  "  My  memory  is  not  so  good  as 
it  was.  We  drink  that  away  as  well.  Yes,  I  remember ;  I  crave 
your  forgiveness,  doctor.  You  were  yourself  engaged  with 
Monmouth.  Your  cousin  told  me  as  much.  Naturally,  you 
love  not  this  good  judge,  who  yet  did  nothing  but  what  the 
king,  his  master,  ordered  him  to  do.  I,  sir,  have  often  had  the 
honor  of  sitting  over  a  bottle  with  his  lordship.  When  his  in- 
firmities allowed — though  not  yet  old  he  is  grievously  afllicted — 
he  had  no  equal  for  a  song  or  a  jest,  and  would  drink  so  long  as 
any  were  left  to  keep  him  company.  Ha !  They  have  knocked 
him  down,  now  they  will  kill  him.  No  ;  he  is  again  upon  his 
feet.  Those  who  protect  him  close  in  ;  so,  they  have  passed  out 
of  our  sight.  Doctor,  shall  we  crack  a  flask  together  ?  I  have 
no  money,  unhappily,  but  I  will,  with  pleasure,  drink  at  thy 
expense," 

I  remembered  the  man's  face  now,  but  not  his  name,  'Twas 
one  of  Ben's  boon  companions.     Well,  if  hard  drinking  brings 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  375 

men  so  speedily  to  rags  and  poverty,  even  though  it  be  a  merry 
life,  which  I  doubt,  give  me  moderation. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  I  said,  coldly,  "  have  me  excused.  I  am  no 
drinker." 

"  Then,  doctor,  you  will,  perhaps,  lend  me,  until  we  meet 
again,  a  single  guinea."  I  foolishly  complied  with  this  request. 
"  Doctor,  I  thank  you,"  he  said.  "  Will  you  now  come  and 
drink  with  me,  at  my  expense?  Sir,  I  say  plainly,  you  do  not 
well  to  refuse  a  friendly  glass.  I  could  tell  you  many  things,  if 
you  would  but  drink  with  me,  concerning  my  Lord  Jeffreys. 
There  are  things  which  would  make  you  laugh.  Come,  doctor, 
I  love  not  to  drink  alone.  Your  cousin,  now,  was  always  ready 
to  drink  with  any  man,  until  he  fell  ill." 

"  IIow,  is  my  cousin  ill  ?" 

"Assuredly.  He  is  sick  unto  death.  Yesterday  I  went  to 
visit  him,  thinking  to  drink  a  glass  with  him,  and,  perhaps,  to 
borrow  a  guinea  or  two,  but  found  him  in  bed  and  raving.  If 
you  will  drink  with  me,  doctor,  I  can  tell  you  many  curious 
things  about  your  cousin.  And  now,  I  remember,  you  were  sent 
to  the  plantations  ;  your  cousin  told  me  so.  You  have  returned 
before  your  time.  Well,  the  king  hath  run  away ;  you  are 
doubtless  safe.  Your  cousin  hath  gotten  his  grandfather's  es- 
tate. Lord  Jeffreys,  who  loved  him  mightily,  procured  that 
grant  for  him.  When  your  cousin  wakes  at  night  he  swears 
that  he  sees  his  grandfather  by  his  bedside,  looking  at  him  re- 
proachfully, so  that  he  drinks  the  harder — 'tis  a  merry  life.  He 
hath  also  married  a  wife,  and  she  ran  away  from  him  at  the 
church  door,  and  he  now  cannot  hear  of  her  or  find  her  any- 
where. So  that  he  curses  her  and  drinks  the  harder — oh,  'tis 
always  the  jolliest  dog.  They  say  that  he  is  not  the  lawyer  that 
he  was,  and  that  his  clients  are  leaving  him.  All  mine  have 
left  me  long  since.     Come  and  drink  with  me,  doctor." 

I  broke  away  from  the  poor  toper  who  had  drunk  up  his  wits 
as  well  as  his  money,  and  hurried  to  my  cousin's  chambers, 
into  which  I  had  not  thought  to  enter,  save  as  one  who  brings 
reproaches — a  useless  burden. 

Benjamin  was  lying  in  bed ;  an  old  crone  sat  by  the  fire, 
nodding.  Beside  her  was  a  bottle,  and  she  was,  I  found,  half 
drunk.  Her  I  quickly  sent  about  her  business.  No  one  else 
had  been  attending  him.     Yet  he  was  laid  low,  as  I  presently 


376  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

discovered,  witla  that  kind  of  fever  wliicli  is  bred  in  the  villain- 
ous air  of  our  prisons — the  same  fever  which  had  carried  ofE 
his  grandfather. 

Perhaps  if  there  were  no  foul  and  stinking  wards,  jails,  and 
chinks,  this  kind  of  fever  would  be  banished  altogether,  and  be 
no  more  seen.  So,  if  we  could  discover  the  origin  and  cause  of 
all  diseases  we  might,  once  more,  restore  man  to  his  primitive 
condition,  which  I  take  to  have  been  one  free  from  any  kind  of 
disease  or  infirmity,  designed  at  first  by  his  Creator  so  to  live 
forever,  and  after  the  Fall,  enabled,  when  medicine  hath  so  far 
advanced,  to  die  of  old  age  after  such  prolongation  of  life  and 
strength  as  yet  we  cannot  even  understand. 

"  Cousin,"  I  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  find  thee  lying  in  this 
condition." 

"  Ay,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  weak  and  low,  not  like  his  old 
blustering  tones.  "  Curse  me  and  upbraid  me  if  you  will.  How 
art  thou  come  hither  ?  Is  it  the  ghost  of  Humphrey  ?  Art  thou 
dead,  like  my  grandfather  ?  Are  we  on  the  plantations  of  Bar- 
badoes  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  am  no  ghost,  Benjamin.  As  for  curses,  I  have 
none ;  and  as  for  reproaches,  I  leave  them  to  your  conscience." 

"  Humphrey,  I  am  sore  afilicted.  I  am  now  so  low  that  I  can- 
not even  sit  upright  in  my  bed.  But  you  are  a  doctor ;  you 
will  bring  me  back  to  health.  I  am  already  better  only  for  see- 
ing you  here." 

I  declare  that  as  yet  I  had  no  thought,  no  thought  at  all,  of 
what  I  was  to  do.  I  was  but  a  physician  in  presence  of  a  sick 
man,  and  therefore  bound  to  help  him  if  I  could. 

I  asked  him,  first,  certain  questions,  as  physicians  use,  con- 
cerning his  disorder  and  its  symptoms.  I  learned  that,  after 
attending  at  the  court,  he  was  attacked  by  fits  of  shivering  and 
of  great  heat,  being  hot  and  cold  alternately,  and  that  in  order 
to  expel  the  fever  he  had  sat  drinking  the  whole  evening — a 
most  dangerous  thing  to  do.  Next,  that  in  the  morning  he  had 
been  unable  to  rise  from  his  bed,  and  being  thirsty  had  drunk 
more  wine — a  thing  enough  of  itself  to  kill  a  man  in  such  a 
fever.  Then  he  lost  his  head,  and  could  tell  me  no  more  what 
had  happened  until  he  saw  me  standing  by  his  bedside.  In  short, 
he  had  been  in  delirium,  and  was  now  in  a  lucid  interval,  out 
of  which  he  would  presently  fall  a-wandering  again,  and  per- 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  377 

haps  raving ;  and  so  another  lucid  interval,  after  whicli  lie  would 
die  unless  something  could  be  done  for  him. 

I  liked  not  his  appearance  nor  the  account  which  he  gave  mc, 
nor  did  I  like  his  pulse  or  the  strange  look  in  his  eyes.  Death 
doth  often  show  his  coming  by  such  a  prophetic  terror  of  the 
eyes. 

"  Humphrey,"  he  said,  pitifully.  "  It  was  by  no  fault  of 
mine  that  thou  wast  sent  to  the  plantations." 

"  That  I  know  full  well,  cousin,"  I  answered  him.  "  Be  easy 
on  that  score." 

"And  as  for  Grace,"  he  went  on.     "  All  is  fair  in  love." 

I  made  no  reply  because,  at  this  point,  a  great  temptation  as- 
sailed my  soul. 

You  have  heard  how  I  learned  many  secrets  of  the  women 
while  I  was  abroad.  Now,  while  we  were  in  Providence  Island, 
I  found  a  woman  of  the  breed  they  call  half-caste,  that  is,  half 
Indian  and  half  Portuguese,  living  in  what  she  called  wedlock 
with  an  English  sailor,  who  did  impart  to  me  a  great  secret  of 
her  own  people.  I  obtained  from  her,  not  only  the  knowledge 
of  a  most  potent  drug  (known  already  to  the  Jesuits),  but  also 
a  goodly  quantity  of  the  drug  itself.  This,  with  certain  other 
discoveries  and  observations  of  my  own,  I  was  about  to  com- 
municate to  the  college  in  Warwick  Lane. 

As  for  this  drug,  I  verily  believe  it  is  the  most  potent  medi- 
cine ever  yet  discovered.  It  is  now  some  years  since  it  was 
first  brought  over  to  Europe  by  the  Jesuits,  and  is  therefore 
called  Pulvis  Jesuiticus,  and  sometimes  Peruvian  Bark.  When 
administered  at  such  a  stage  of  the  fever  as  had  now  been 
reached  by  my  unhappy  cousin,  it  seldom  fails  to  vivify  the 
spirits  and  so  to  act  upon  the  nerves  as  to  restore  the  sinking, 
and  to  call  back  to  life  a  man  almost  moribund. 

Remembering  this,  I  lugged  the  packet  out  of  my  pocket  and 
laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,  cousin,"  I  said.  "  I  have  a  drug  which 
is  strong  enough,  with  the  help  of  God,  to  make  a  dying  man 
sit  up  again.     Courage,  then." 

When  I  had  said  these  words  my  temptation  fell  upon  me. 
It  came  in  the  guise  of  a  voice  which  whispered  in  my  ear. 

"  Should  this  man  die,"  it  said,  "  there  will  be  freedom  for 
Grace.    She  can  then  marry  the  man  she  loves.     She  will  be 


378  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

restored  to  happiness.  While  he  lives  she  must  still  continue 
in  misery,  being  cut  off  from  love.     Let  him  die,  therefore." 

"  Humphrey,"  said  Ben,  "  in  this  matter  of  Grace ;  if  she 
will  come  to  me,  I  will  make  her  happy.  But  I  know  not  where 
she  is  hidden.  Things  go  ill  with  me  since  that  unlucky  day. 
I  would  to  God  I  had  not  done  it.  Nothing  hath  gone  well 
since ;  and  I  drink  daily  to  hide  her  face.  Yet  at  night  she 
haunts  me,  with  her  father  who  threatens,  and  her  mother  who 
weeps,  and  my  grandfather  who  reproaches.  Humphrey,  tell 
me,  what  is  it,  man  ?     What  mean  your  looks  ?" 

For  while  he  spoke  that  other  voice  was  in  my  ears  also. 

"  Should  he  die  Grace  will  be  happy  again.  Should  he  live 
she  will  continue  in  misery."  At  these  words,  which  were  but 
my  own  thoughts,  yet  involuntary,  I  felt  so  great  a  pity,  such 
an  overwhelming  love  for  Grace,  that  my  spirit  was  wholly  car- 
ried away.  To  restore  her  freedom !  Oh,  what  price  was  too 
great  for  such  a  gift  ?  Nay,  I  was  seized  with  the  thought  that 
to  give  her  so  great  a  thing,  even  my  own  destruction  would  be 
a  light  price  to  pay.  Never,  until  that  moment,  had  I  known 
how  fondly  and  truly  I  loved  her ;  why,  if  it  were  to  be  done 
over  again  —  but  this  matters  not — I  have  to  make  my  con- 
fession. 

"  Humphrey,  speak !"  I  suppose  that  my  trouble  showed  it- 
self in  my  face. 

"  Thou  art  married  to  Grace,"  I  said,  slowly.  "  That  cannot 
be  denied.  So  long  as  thou  livest,  Benjamin,  so  long  will  she 
be  robbed  of  everything  that  she  desires ;  so  long  will  she  be 
unhappy.     Now,  if  thou  shouldst  die — " 

"  Die  !  I  cannot  die  ;  I  must  live."  He  tried  to  raise  him- 
self, but  he  was  too  weak.     "  Cousin,  save  my  life  1" 

"  If  thou  shouldst  die,  Benjamin,"  I  went  on,  regardless  of 
his  words,  "  she  will  be  set  free.  It  is  only  by  thy  death  that 
she  can  be  set  free.  Say,  then,  to  thyself,  '  I  have  done  this 
poor  woman  so  great  an  injury  that  nothing  but  my  death  can 
atone  for  it.  Willingly,  therefore,  will  I  lay  down  my  life,  hop- 
ing thus  to  atone  for  this  abominable  wickedness.' " 

*'  Humphrey,  do  not  mock  me.  Give  me — give  me — give  me 
speedily  the  drug  of  which  you  spoke.  I  die — I  die — oh,  give 
me  of  your  drug  !" 

Then  I  took  the  packet  containing  the  Pulvis  Jesuiticus  and 


Ji^-^-ipa*  .A,^ 


"  Then  I  knelt  beside  his  bed,  and  prayed  aloud  for  him;  but  inces- 
santly he  cried  for  helj),  wearing  himself  out  with  prayers  and  curses." 


FOB    FAITH    AND    FREEDOM.  379 

threw  it  upon  the  fire,  where  in  a  moment  it  was  a  little  heap  of 
ashes. 

"  Now,  Benjamin,"  I  said,  "  I  cannot  help  thee.  Thou  must 
surely  die." 

He  shrieked,  he  wept,  he  implored  me  to  do  something  to 
keep  him  alive.     He  began  to  curse  and  to  swear, 

"  No  one  can  now  save  thee,  Benjamin,"  I  told  him.  "  Not 
all  the  College  of  Physicians,  not  all  the  medicines  in  England. 
Thou  must  die.  Listen  and  heed.  In  a  short  time,  unless  thy 
present  sickness  causeth  thee  to  expire,  there  will  fall  upon  thee 
another  fit  of  fever  and  delirium,  after  which  another  interval  of 
reason.  Perhaps  another ;  but  yet  thou  must  surely  die.  Pre- 
pare thy  soul,  therefore.  Is  there  any  message  for  Grace  that 
thou  wouldst  send  to  her,  being  now  at  the  point  of  death  ?" 

His  only  answer  was  to  curse  and  weep  alternately. 

Then  I  knelt  beside  his  bed,  and  prayed  aloud  for  him  ;  but 
incessantly  he  cried  for  help,  wearing  himself  out  with  prayers 
and  curses. 

"  Benjamin,"  I  said,  when  I  had  thus  prayed  awhile,  but  in- 
effectually, "  I  shall  take  to  Grace,  instead  of  these  curses,  which 
avail  nothing,  a  prayer  for  pardon,  in  order  to  touch  her  heart 
and  cause  her  to  think  of  thee  with  forgiveness,  as  of  one  who 
repented  at  the  end.  This  I  shall  do  for  her  sake.  I  shall  also 
tell  thy  father  that  thy  death  was  repentant,  and  shall  take  to 
him  also  a  prayer  for  forgiveness  as  from  thee.  This  will  light- 
en his  sorrow,  and  cause  him  to  remember  thee  with  the  greater 
love.  And  to  Robin,  too,  so  that  he  may  cease  to  call  thee  vil- 
lain, I  will  carry  not  these  ravings,  but  a  humble  prayer,  as  from 
thyself,  for  forgiveness." 

This  is  my  confession.  /,  who  might  have  saved  my  coxmn, 
stiffered  him  to  die. 

The  sick  man,  when  he  found  that  prayers  or  curses  would 
not  avail,  fell  to  moaning,  rolling  his  head  from  side  to  side. 
When  he  was  thus  quiet  I  prayed  again  for  him,  exhorting 
him  to  lift  up  his  soul  to  his  Judge,  and  assuring  him  of  our 
full  forgiveness.  But,  indeed,  I  know  not  if  he  heard  or  un- 
derstood. It  was  then  about  four  of  the  clock,  and  growing 
dark.  I  lit  a  candle  and  examined  him  again.  I  think  that 
he  was  now  unconscious.  He  seemed  as  if  he  slept.  I  sat 
down  and  watched. 


380  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  think  that  at  midnight,  or  thereabouts,  I  must  have  fallen 
asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the  candle  was  out  and  the  fire  was  out.  The 
room  was  in  perfect  darkness.  I  laid  my  hand  upon  my  cous- 
in's forehead.     He  was  cold  and  dead. 

Then  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  watchman  in  the  street.  "  Past 
two  o'clock,  and  a  frosty  morning." 

The  voice  which  I  had  heard  before  whispered  again  in  my 
ear. 

"  Grace  is  free,  Grace  is  free.  Thou — thou — thou  alone  hast 
set  her  free.     Thou  hast  killed  her  husband." 

I  threw  myself  upon  my  knees,  and  spent  the  rest  of  that 
long  night  in  seeking  for  repentance.  But,  even  as  now,  the 
lamentation  of  a  sinner  was  mingled  with  the  joy  of  thinking 
that  Grace  was  free  at  last,  and  by  none  other  hand  than  mine. 

This  is  my  confession.  I  might  have  saved  my  cousin,  and  I 
suffered  him  to  die.  Wherefore  I  have  left  the  profession  in 
which  it  was  my  ambition  to  distinguish  myself,  and  am  no 
longer  anything  but  a  poor  and  obscure  person  living  on  the 
charity  of  my  friends  in  a  remote  village. 

Two  days  afterwards  I  was  sitting  at  the  table  looking  through 
the  dead  man's  papers,  when  I  heard  a  footstep  on  the  stair. 
It  was  Barnaby,  who  broke  noisily  into  the  room. 
"  Where  is  Benjamin  ?"  he  cried.     "  Where  is  that  villain?" 
*'  Wliat  do  you  want  with  him  ?" 
"  I  want  to  kill  him.     I  am  come  to  kill  him." 
"  Look  upon  the  bed,  Barnaby."     I  laid  back  the  sheet  and 
showed  him  the  pale  face  of  the  dead  man.     <'  The  hand  of  the 
Lord — or  that  of  another — hath  already  killed  him.     Art  thou 
now  content?" 


CHAPTER  LII. 

CONCLUSION. 


In  the  decline  of  years,  when  the  sixtieth  birthday  is  near  at 
hand,  and  one  looks  not  to  live  much  longer,  and  the  future 
hath  no  fresh  joy  to  bring  with  it,  but  only  infirmities  of  age 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  381 

and  pain,  it  is  profitable  and  pleasant  to  look  back  upon  the 
past,  to  observe  the  guidance  of  the  Unseen  Hand,  to  repent 
one's  sins,  and  to  live  over  again  those  seasons,  whether  of  sor- 
row or  of  joy,  which  we  now  perceive  to  have  been  providen- 
tially ordered. 

This  have  I  done,  both  in  reading  the  history  of  our  lives,  as 
related  by  my  mistress,  and  in  writing  this  latter  part.  To  the 
former  have  I  added  nothing,  nor  have  I  subtracted  anything 
therefrom,  because  I  would  not  suffer  the  sweet  and  candid  soul 
of  her  whom  I  have  always  loved  to  be  tarnished  by  any  words 
of  mine  breaking  in  upon  her  own,  as  jarring  notes  in  some 
lovely  harmony.  It  is  strictly  laid  upon  me  to  deliver  her  words 
just  as  she  hath  Avritten  them  down. 

Now,  after  the  death  of  Benjamin,  I  took  it  upon  myself,  be- 
ing his  cousin,  in  the  absence  of  his  father,  to  examine  the  pa- 
pers which  he  had  left.  Among  them  I  found  abundance  of 
songs,  chiefly  in  praise  of  wine  and  women,  with  tavern  bills. 
Also,  there  were  notes  of  legal  cases,  very  voluminous ;  and  I 
found  notes  of  payment  made  to  various  persons  engaged  in  in- 
quiring after  his  wife  in  those  towns  of  the  AVest  Country  where 
her  father's  name  would  procure  friends  for  her.  But  there  was 
no  will :  Benjamin  had  died  (never  looking  for  so  early  an  end) 
without  making  any  will.  Therefore  all  his  estate,  including 
the  manor  of  Bradford  Orcas — indeed,  he  had  nothing  else — 
now  belonged  to  Grace,  a  widow  who  had  never  been  a  wife. 

It  is  thirty  years  ago  and  more.  King  William  III.  is  dead. 
Queen  Anne  is  dead.  King  George,  who  cannot,  they  say, 
speak  English,  but  is  a  stout  Protestant,  sits  upon  our  throne. 
The  Nonconformists  are  free,  save  that  they  cannot  enter  the 
universities,  and  are  subject  to  other  disabilities,  Avhich  will 
doubtless  be  removed  in  the  course  of  years.  But  English  peo- 
ple, I  think,  love  power  beyond  all  earthly  things,  and  so  long 
as  the  Church  is  in  a  majority,  the  Churchmen  will  exercise  their 
power  and  will  not  part  with  it.  To  us  of  Bradford  Orcas  it 
matters  little.  We  worship  at  the  parish  church.  Every  Sun- 
day I  contemplate,  as  I  did  fifty  years  ago,  the  monument  of 
Filipa  kneeling  apart,  and  of  her  husband  and  his  second  wife 
kneeling  together.  There  is  a  new  tablet  in  the  chancel  put  up 
to  the  memory  of  Sir  Christopher,  and  another  to  that  of  Dr. 


382  FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM. 

Comfort  Eykin.  Their  bodies  lie  somewhere  among  the  mounds 
on  the  north  side  of  Ilminster  church. 

Forty  years  ago,  as  you  have  seen,  there  stood  three  hoys  in 
the  garden  of  the  manor-house,  discoursing  on  their  future. 
One  wished  never  to  go  anywhere,  but  to  remain  always  a  coun- 
try gentleman,  like  his  grandfather ;  one  would  be  a  great  law- 
yer, a  judge,  even  the  lord  chancellor;  the  third  would  be  a 
great  physician.  Lo  !  the  end  of  all.  The  first,  but  after  divers 
miseries,  perils,  and  wanderings,  hath  attained  to  his  desire  ;  the 
second  lies  buried  in  the  churchyard  of  St.  Andrews,  Holborn, 
forgotten  long  since  by  his  companions — who  indeed  are  now 
with  him  in  the  pit — and  remembered  only  among  his  own  kin 
for  the  great  wickedness  which  he  wrought  before  the  Lord; 
and  as  for  the  third  and  last,  no  illustrious  physician  is  he,  but 
one  who  lives  obscure,  but  content,  in  a  remote  village,  in  the 
very  cottage  where  his  mistress  was  born,  with  books  and  music, 
and  the  society  of  the  sweetest  woman  who  ever  graced  this 
earth  for  his  solace.  She  was  always  gracious — she  was  gra- 
cious in  her  childhood  ;  gracious  as  a  maiden ;  more  gracious  still 
is  she  in  these  latter  days  when  her  hair  is  gray  and  her  daugh- 
ters stand  about  her  tall  and  comely. 

Now,  had  I  administered  that  powder — that  sovereign  remedy 
(the  Pulvis  Jesuiticus) — what  would  have  been  her  lot  ? 

"  Ilumphrey,"  said  Robin,  "  a  penny  for  thy  thoughts." 

"Robin,  I  was  thinking — it  is  not  a  new  thing,  but  thirty 
years  old — that  Cousin  Benjamin  never  did  anything  in  his  life 
so  useful  as  to  die." 

"  Ay.  Poor  Benjamin  !  That  he  had  at  the  end  the  grace  to 
ask  our  forgiveness  and  to  repent  hath  in  it  something  of  a 
miracle.  We  have  long  forgiven  him.  But  consider.  We 
were  saved  from  the  fight;  we  were  saved  from  the  sea;  we 
were  saved  from  slavery ;  we  were  enabled  to  strike  the  last 
blow  for  the  Protestant  religion.  What  were  all  these  blessings 
worth  if  Benjamin  still  lived  ?  To  think,  Humphrey,  that  Grace 
would  never  have  been  my  wife,  and  never  a  mother,  and  all 
these  children  should  have  remained  unborn.  I  say,  that  though 
we  may  not  desire  the  death  of  a  sinner,  we  were  not  human  if 
we  rejoiced  not  at  the  death  of  our  poor  cousin." 

Yes,  that  is  the  thought  which  will  not  suffer  me  to  repent. 


FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  383 

A  pinch  of  the  Pulvis  Jesuiticus,  and  he  might  have  been  living 
unto  this  very  day.  Then  would  Grace  have  lost  the  crowning 
blessing  of  a  woman's  life. 

Yet  I  was,  it  is  true,  a  physician,  whose  duty  it  is  to  save 
life — even  the  life  of  the  wretched  criminal  who  is  to  die  upon 
the  gallows. 

Yet  again.  If  he  had  been  saved.  As  I  write  these  lines  I 
see  my  mistress  walking  down  the  village  street.  She  looks 
over  my  garden  gate ;  she  lifts  the  latchet  and  enters,  smiling 
gravely  and  tenderly.  A  sober  happiness  sits  upon  her  brow. 
The  terror  of  her  first  marriage  has  long  been  forgotten. 

Why,  as  I  watch  her  tranquil  life,  busy  with  her  household 
and  her  children  ;  full  of  the  piety  which  asks  not — as  her  father 
was  wont  to  ask — how  and  where  the  mercy  of  Heaven  is  lim- 
ited, and  if,  indeed,  it  will  embrace  all  she  loves ;  as  I  mark  the 
tender  love  of  husband  and  of  children,  which  lies  around  her 
like  a  garment  and  prevents  all  her  doings,  there  comes  back  to 
me  continually  a  bedroom  in  which  a  man  lies  dying.  Again 
in  memory,  again  in  intention,  I  throw  upon  the  fire  that  hand- 
ful of  Pulvis  Jesuiticus  which  should  have  driven  away  his  fever 
and  restored  him  to  health  again.  A  great  and  strong  man  he 
was,  who  might  have  lived  till  eighty  years.  Where  then  would 
have  been  that  love,  where  those  children,  where  that  tranquil 
heart,  and  that  contented  mind  ?  "  /  will  not  save  his  life,''''  I 
say  again,  in  my  mind,  "  /  will  not  save  him.     He  shall  die^ 

"  Humphrey,"  my  mistress  says,  "  leave  thy  books  awhile  and 
walk  with  me.  The  winter  sun  is  warm  upon  the  hills.  Come, 
dear  cousin.  It  is  the  day  when  Benjamin  died,  repentant. 
What  better  could  we  wish  ?  What  greater  blessing  could  have 
been  bestowed  upon  him  and  upon  us  than  a  true  repentance  and 
to  die  ?  Oh,  dear  brother,  let  us  walk  and  talk  of  these  bless- 
ings which  have  been  showered  upon  my  undeserving  head." 


THE    END. 


DATE  DUE 

1 

CAYLORO 

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